


Harry Potter and the Lives of Dragons

by drarryweasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Harry Potter, Dragons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Nightmares, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Slight Dumbledore Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 65,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryweasley/pseuds/drarryweasley
Summary: Harry’s avoiding Dumbledore’s portrait like the plague. Draco Malfoy is sleeping less than ten feet from Harry and refuses to stop flirting with him. Charlie Weasley is seeming less and less like a brother every day and Harry doesn’t know how to break that to Ron, who is mostdefinitelyonto him. And on top of all of that, grief is a bitch that seems to have it out for everyone at the worst possible times.Harry was stupid to think he could have a normal year at Hogwarts, even without Voldemort messing about his head.*Additional tags to be added as they become relevant*
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 156
Kudos: 546





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly canon but I killed Percy because Fred is my fave and I don't want to write a world where he isn't alive + a few other (minor) character deaths
> 
> Also there aren't enough Charlie x Harry fics for my liking so I'm trying to rectify that

“Alright, mate?” Ron asks across the Gryffindor table. When Harry doesn’t answer immediately, he launches a still-steaming roll toward his best friend, and hits him smack in the face.

Harry flinches, arms moving to catch the roll before his eyes can pull away from the head table and catch up with the rest of his body. The tips of his fingers grab the bread in the nick of time. “What the fuck, Ron?” Harry glares lightly at him and tosses it back his way.

“Language, Harry!” Hermione scolds from beside Ron, glancing to the other end of the table where the new first-years watch the trio with wide eyes when they think they don’t notice. Occasionally, an older student will look their way too, but by now they’re used to the antics.

Harry rolls his eyes. He’d gone through the entire summer without Hermione on his back for swearing or making inappropriate jokes, but she’d mentioned something on the Express about “setting a good example for the younger years.” Or something. Ginny had laughed at that one, said he’d be more likely to burn Hogwarts down than be a good example for its students. “Well it’s not like he ever has before, has he?” she’d pointed out. Harry elbowed her at that, grumbling about how it wasn’t  _ his _ fault the world had it out for him.

“You’ve been spacing out for the past two minutes,” Ron says to him, forehead creased.

Harry shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep last night. I was too excited to come back.” ‘Excited’ is a nice word for it. The anxiety of returning to Hogwarts for the first time since the Battle had held his lungs tight and his brain vigilant. Thankfully, his panic attacks and mental breakdowns have always been on the quiet side. His nightmares, however, are another matter. One that never failed to wake Ron from a dead sleep and make Harry more exhausted than he was before he tried to sleep in the first place.

Ron looks between Harry and the head table. “You sure?” he asks hesitantly. They haven’t had a meal in the Great Hall since Snape--hell, since  _ Dumbledore _ . Every few minutes, Hermoine digs her nails into Ron’s thigh. She hides the tremble of her lips through bites of food, but after three months of holding one another through their traumas, Ron notices.

Harry nods once, swallows. “Yeah. It’s just...different, you know?” McGonagall has taken the Headmaster’s seat, and Harry’s happy for her, he really is. They met eyes for just a second right after the sorting, and Harry could see the pride absolutely radiating off of her. The new Gryffindor Head of House and Transfiguration professor is none other than Charlie Weasley. He’d returned to Britain just before the final battle, and hadn’t had it in himself to leave since. After losing Percy and nearly losing Fred, staying close to home was keeping his parents from losing their sanity. When Harry had holed himself up in Grimmauld Place for two weeks after the battle, Charlie was the one who showed up in his Floo, coaxing him out of bed and into the shower. Charlie was the one that made sure he ate and packed his trunk for the Burrow. Charlie was a rock and Harry didn’t know how he could do it with everything else going on.

Next to Charlie was Bill Weasley, the temporary Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. After losing Fleur to the same monster that had given him the scars on his face, he’d gone a bit off the rails--rightfully so, Harry thought. He’d started drinking, gotten fired for losing focus and landing himself in St. Mungos on more than one occasion, and started drinking even more. Surprisingly, Ron had been the one to talk him down from that ledge, storming into Shell Cottage one night and obliterating any bottle that had the faintest smell of alcohol. The owl from McGonagall asking him to return for half a year while they sought someone permanent for the position came the next week, and Ron swore he knew nothing about it with the smallest smirk.

Harry thought it was something of a miracle that there weren’t more new faces at the head table than the two Weasley brothers. He tried his best not to count faces at his own table; he didn’t want to know who didn’t return, whose funerals he’d missed (because when that many people die so quickly, funeral times are bound to overlap and, simply put, Harry couldn’t drag himself to every wake he was invited to). He just wanted to have a semi-normal year with his friends.

“Potter,” a bright, masculine voice comes from behind him, and Harry groans internally before turning, knowing exactly who it is.

“Malfoy,” he returns, hating that he has to look up to him from his seated position.

“A word?” Malfoy asks before turning to exit the Great Hall. He doesn’t turn to see if Harry’s following until he reaches the archway. He gives Harry a withering look when he sees the boy has yet to move.

He turns to Ron and Hermoine, who look angry enough for him. “What could bloody Malfoy want with you? Didn’t you already do enough for him?” Ron groans. He’d said the same thing when Harry had told him he wanted to testify at Malfoy’s trial, along with his mother’s. Even after Harry explains what Narcissa has done for him, Ron is hesitant to believe anything redeeming about the family. Hermione understands slightly better, knows that this is just something Harry has to do, but she still pulls a face whenever it’s mentioned. 

Harry shrugs and puts down his silverware. “I guess we won’t know unless I find out,” he sighs, standing. “Send a search party if I’m not back by dessert,” he says, only half-joking.

He tries to put on a nice face before he reaches the hallway, but the grunted “what’s up?” that leaves his mouth sounds anything but welcoming.

Malfoy frowns, posture going ramrod straight. “Sorry to disturb you, Oh Holy One,” before Harry can react, Malfoy pulls a box wrapped in mint green paper and a white ribbon out of his pocket and thrusts it between them. “I just wanted to thank you. For what you said at the trial...and whatnot.” He bites his lip and looks down to the box. He takes a deep breath, and Harry can see the way the bow on top shakes.

Harry grabs it clumsily and jams it into the pocket of his robes. “I don’t need a present, you know,” Harry starts, but backtracks when he sees the way Malfoy’s face sours. “But thank you anyways. I...I just did what anyone would do.”

“No,” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “You did what any  _ Gryffindor _ would do, maybe.”

Harry nods and gives him a tentative smile. “Yeah, I guess.”

Malfoy lets the corners of his lips curl up. “I had this crazy idea that we could be civil this year.” He suggests.

Harry pauses for a moment. “Perhaps,” he says slowly. “But I think I need more proof you won’t be an arsehole before I say yes.”

Surprised, Malfoy lets out a choked kind of laugh. “Right. I can try not to be an arsehole if you try, too.”

Harry’s smile grows, and he turns back to the Great Hall. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Later, Draco.”

As he returns to his friends, Harry wagers a quick glance up to the head table. Charlie and Bill are unabashedly looking at him, whispering to one another. Feeling the blush rising in his cheeks, he breaks contact with them and hurries back to his place at the table, where a large platter of treacle tart has appeared just in front of him.

He supposes sometimes it is good to be back.

The eighth years are told to stay seated until everyone else has left for their dormitories, and it doesn’t take long for them to be buzzing with excitement. In her “welcome back” speech, McGonagall had mentioned the eighth years would be staying in another part of the castle, but past that, no one had any clue. “I hope we’re near the kitchens,” Seamus says. Ron laughs and claps him on the back.

Hermoine shakes her head at them. “I bet we’ll be near the library. McGonagall said this year would be extra challenging and it would be so helpful to be nearby. Not to mention we’ll also be close to the classrooms, giving us more time to get ready in the mornings.”

“Or, I don’t know, sleep?” Harry replies, laughing at Hermoine’s glare of disapproval.

As the last of the first-year Hufflepuffs drift out of the hall, McGonagall approaches the eighth years. “If you’ll follow me,” she waves past them, her velvet robes sailing behind her majestically.

The group is lead to the third floor. Harry, Ron, and Hermoine exchange glances as they find themselves back at the door they faced at the end of their first year. Now, there’s a portrait in front of it, but Harry still has that quaking feeling in his bones that danger lies on the other side. “Now, if you’ll remember, this floor has been closed off for nearly a decade,” Harry swears McGonagall stares right at him, “due to various repairs and projects over the years. Hogwarts, however, has heard our needs and once again accommodated herself to fit them. The entrance to your dormitory is through this door. The password is…” she trails off, looking at the portrait for the first time since leading the group up. “Oh, where did he go now? Sleeping in my office, no doubt,” she grumbles. 

Harry looks to Hermoine, who’s wearing the same confusion on her face that he feels. The only portraits in the Headmaster’s office were…

_ No _ .

“Oh, Albus! There you are. Slacking on your duties already?” McGonagall says sternly to the portrait of Dumbledore walking into the frame.

“Now Minerva, dear, you told me to be ready at 9, and as you can see, it is only 8:58.” Even in his portrait, Dumbledore has that knowing sparkle in his eyes that makes Harry’s stomach turn. 

“On time is late, Dumbledore,” McGonagall reminds the painting with a short roll of her eyes. “Anyway,” she turns back to the group, seemingly unfazed by the nervous energy floating in the air. “The password is Bertie Bott’s,”--the door opens up to a much more inviting room than had been there before, one without trapdoors or giant three-headed dogs--“and will change on a biweekly basis. You will need to check the board in the common room every other Monday for the new password. Now, I’ll leave you all to settle into your rooms. The girls’ rooms are on the left, gentlemen to the right. There are four beds and an en-suite bathroom in each room, and no more than two people from the same house can stay in any one room. This year we’d like to encourage more inter-house unity, and we expect you to lead by example. Now, off to bed! You will receive your schedules at breakfast tomorrow, so do try not to oversleep.” she takes a step toward the stairs and the eighth years part down the center, leaving her a perfect aisle to walk through. “And one last thing. As you are eighth years, we trust that you know when you need to sleep and when you need to stay awake. Therefore, curfew is lifted for you; the prefects have been told to refrain from giving you punishment so long as you are not causing any other issues. However, do remember that this is a privilege that I can and will take away.” With that, she retreats down the stairs and students begin to pile into their new common room. “Oh, and Mr. Potter?” McGonagall calls just before he makes his entrance into the dormitory. “Your Head of House would like to see you before you retire for the night. I assume you remember where the office is?”

Harry flushes at the memory of detentions with McGonagall, but nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well.” McGonagall looks him in the eye for longer than he feels comfortable with, and her face shows something like understanding. Of what, Harry is unsure. “Sleep well, Mr. Potter.”

Charlie must have been waiting for him; the door opens seconds after he knocks. “Harry,” Charlie greets with a warm smile and an even warmer fire; the room must be at least ten degrees hotter than the rest of the castle. “Come in. Cocoa should be ready in a minute or two.”

Harry smiles and relaxes as Charlie lets him in. He’s not sure what he expected on the walk to his office, but it should have been this. It’s practically routine at this point: Charlie makes cocoa, invites Harry to his room, and they talk. Sometimes about Quidditch, sometimes about the war, sometimes about Ron (or any of the other Weasleys, really) and what an idiot he is. Why did he ever think he needed to be nervous? It’s  _ Charlie _ .

Of all the Weasley brothers Harry expected to get close to, Charlie was at the bottom of the list. He’d only met him twice before this summer: briefly when he came to get Norberta Harry’s first year, and then again for a few days during the Triwizard Tournament. Neither time was exactly an opportune time to start a friendship. Charlie was working and Harry was, well. Doing what Harry did: trying not to die. That day in late May was when it really started.

Because he’d never needed to be, Charlie was never keyed into the wards of Grimmauld Place. He’d been in for quite the surprise when the Floo roughly pushed him out when he tried to come through. He’d had to owl Harry to allow him in. Harry took nearly two days to respond, and even then, all he’d said was a messy “okay.”

The first thing Charlie noticed when he entered Harry’s house was the smell of decay. He’d gagged and almost lost his breakfast by the time his nose adjusted. He called for Harry, and didn’t get an answer. He’d had to search the house room by room until he found the man curled up in bed, eyes rimmed red and cheeks sunken in. “Oh, Harry.” he sighed.

“What?” Harry hissed at him before looking at him. “Charlie?” he asked when he did, voice smaller but no less annoyed. “I thought you were Ron.”

“You gave me access to your Floo yesterday. Did you think I wanted it for no reason?”

Harry looked blankly, as if he’d forgotten that was only yesterday. “Right, right...can I help you, then? As you can see, I’m a very busy man.”

Charlie scoffed. “No offense, but which one of us really looks like they need help right now?”

Harry’s eyes grew hard, cold. “Oh, you’re here to  _ help _ me?” he sneered.

Charlie nodded. “That’s what I said mate, didn’t I?”

Harry rolled over, tangling further into his blankets. “If you’re here to help, fuck off. I don’t want it.”

Now that Harry made room by moving, Charlie sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you want, then? To be alone? I highly doubt that.”

“You don’t know anything,” Harry grunts.

Charlie shrugged, even though he knew Harry couldn’t see. “Maybe so, but I certainly could try. I was there, too.”

Harry’s head whipped around dramatically to face him, eyes redder than before but also blazing with something heavy. “You think you’ll understand because you were there for a fucking battle?” Harry seethes. “A few hours to understand a lifetime of war? Tell me, how many deaths do you have on your conscience? How many months did you spend on the run from a literal fucking psychopath? How many times have you held the fate of the world in your hands?” The passion seemed to force Harry out of bed. Charlie stood and took a few steps back as Harry rolled out of bed and stood in something of a dueling position. Charlie’s heart began to beat a little faster until he saw the tip of Harry’s wand poking out from under his pillow. Still, the air in the room was sharp like electric--like magic. “I can’t leave my house without worrying that I’ll break down or get mobbed or most likely both, and how am I supposed to face the friends I have left without thinking about every one that I’ve let down? And you think you can understand all of that because of a fucking battle?” Harry was sobbing by the time he finished, shoulders heaving with the force of him trying to hold back. He looked at the glass of water on his bedside table, shivering like he was, knowing just how close he was to losing it too much to ever regain control.

Realization dawned on Harry’s face mere seconds after he caught his breath. “Fuck, Charlie, I didn’t mean that. Well, I didn’t mean to say that to you. I’m sorry, god I’m such a prick. This is why I haven’t been talking to anyone. I’ve got...there’s just this...I’ve felt out of control, ever since the end. Of the battle, I mean. It feels like there’s some kind of volatile potion in my chest and I never know when it’s going to react or boil over.” The words tumbled out of him as he clutched his chest. “It  _ hurts _ , Charlie.”

And instead of yelling back, like any normal person would do, Charlie grabbed Harry and pulled him into the most bone-crushing hug he’d ever experienced. “That’s okay, you know.” Charlie said. “Grief does that sometimes, and you look exhausted. I’m sure that doesn’t help.” He paused for a second, watched him closely. “When was the last time you slept, Harry?”

And that was the beginning of Charlie and Harry. Two weeks later, Charlie had him moving into the Burrow temporarily, where he remained until the end of his summer. “It helps to be around family, trust me,” Charlie had promised. At that point, Harry had to take a moment to remember that the Weasleys didn’t hate him for killing their son, that he was still their family. Being alone for so long had convinced him otherwise. He had lost it again, totally and completely, when they’d apparated to the Burrow and the whole family, Bill and Hermoine included, was waiting to welcome him home. The late-night cocoa talks had started not long after that, and Charlie was right--being around family helped. He could function again (most days), if only so that Ron didn’t physically force him out of bed and Hermoine didn’t give him that god-awful hurt puppy look of pity. Still, not long before his birthday, Harry found himself with the realization that his talks with Charlie were the only time he felt anything close to human, and that’s been the truth to this day. There were other moments, pickup games of Quidditch and unexpected pranks from the twins’ new projects, but this is different. Charlie is the first person Harry has gotten close to that didn’t watch him grow up, the first to not expect anything from him but what he is now.

Before Harry knows it, a mug of cocoa is hovering in front of his eyes. “Do you want to sit?” Charlie asks at his side, gesturing to a half-open door that leads to something like a living room. Harry realizes that must be where the heat is coming from, smiles, and nods.

Charlie’s the best thing that’s happened to him since the end of the war, and maybe even longer than that. He doesn’t get mad like Ron or hurt like Hermoine when Harry lashes out. Maybe because he knows that it’s never really about him. Harry told him once that he doesn’t think he knows Charlie enough to really be angry with him yet. Harry knows that it comes down to Charlie being a total rock, with his family and with Harry. As Harry watches him sip calmly at his own cocoa, he wonders how someone can be so stoic. Has Charlie so much as flinched since Percy died? 

They sit on the black leather couch facing the fireplace. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Gryffindor’s Head of House?” Harry asks after a few minutes. Lately, Charlie has been letting Harry control where their conversations went. At first, it had been like pulling teeth, getting Harry to talk about anything of substance. Charlie found that the closer they grew and the quieter he was, the easier Harry found it to spill anything important.

Charlie laughs and puts his feet up on the dark, wooden coffee table in front of them. “I wanted to give you something of a surprise. I thought you might have guessed it, actually. Hermoine asked me about it a week ago.” 

Harry blushes; it makes sense, given he’s the only one on staff that fits the criteria. He’s been too wrapped up in himself to even notice. “Nope, you got me.”

“Have you been to your room yet? I heard the eighth year dorms are pretty wicked.”

Harry shivers at the thought of having to return there. He shakes his head. “McGonagall sent me here before I had the chance to go in.” He frowns. “Did you know the entrance to the common room is a portrait of Dumbledore?”

A guilty look crosses Charlie’s face, giving him the answer he expects. “I tried to convince McGonagall it wasn’t a good idea, and she told me it wasn’t her doing.”

Harry rolls his eyes. Hogwarts never wanted to give him a break, did it? “I don’t know how I’m going to walk past him every day, let alone talk to him.” Harry sits his mug on the coffee table and props his own feet up beside it. “I don’t even know how to feel about him. I think I might still be angry with him.” Harry speaks to the fire, not willing to look at Charlie. He’d only mentioned Dumbledore once or twice in their talks, and only in passing, because quite frankly, that was a wound Harry wasn’t ready to go near. Yet here he was, being forced to face it, and it simply wasn’t fair.

“That’s okay. He would understand,” Charlie says softly.

“What if he tries to talk to me?”

“Then tell him what you’re telling me,” Charlie shrugs like it’s obvious. Perhaps it is, but Harry’s never been great at standing up to Dumbledore. Except for that one time fifth year after Sirius, and even that was more trashing the man’s office than going off on him. He’d been called “Dumbledore’s man” with good reason.

“I-I don’t know…” Harry stutters, feeling his breathing going heavy.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Charlie soothes, moving closer so he can run his hand down Harry’s back. “If it’s that big a deal, just make sure Ron or someone is with you when you go back to the common room. And if you can’t find anyone, just come ask me.”

Harry is already shaking his head. “No, I wouldn’t want to bother--”

“Shut up, Harry,” Charlie’s hand raises to Harry’s shoulder and squeezes. “You know damn well you’re not bothering me or anyone else. And even if you are, I’d say you have at least the first half of the year to milk the ‘saviour’ thing without people getting too annoyed by it.”

Harry wants to object, but he knows Charlie’s right. He usually is, annoyingly, about things like this. He likes to tell Harry he’s paranoid. How can he not be, after everything? It’s not like he’s used to people telling him their intentions. He thinks that for a leader of a revolution, he sure did a lot of following.

“So,” Charlie starts, drinking the dregs of his cocoa. “What was that with you and Malfoy at dinner?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry says immediately.

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “No?” is all he says, fighting a smile.

The man has a way of getting under Harry’s skin without saying a word. He’s just sitting there, hand resting against the small of Harry’s back, and Harry knows before he opens his mouth that he has to tell him. After all these months of oversharing for the first time in his life, he’s still not sure he likes it. He supposes there are worse people to test the waters with--Charlie’s still here, after all.

Harry sighs. “He wanted to call for a truce.”

Charlie’s other eyebrow rises to meet the first one. “Huh, I didn’t think he was mature enough for that.”

“He’s different now. I mean, I guess we all are, but...he seemed to really mean it.” Harry doesn’t mention the gift; for some reason that he hasn’t quite figured out, he wants it all to himself. Telling someone else about it feels too much like giving it away.

“Are you going to accept it?” Charlie asks lightly, picking at a thread on his shirt. 

Harry nods slowly. “I did, actually. I’m tired of fighting.” He sips down the last of his cocoa. “Although if there is one person I’d still like to duel, it’d probably be him. Riling him up was usually pretty satisfying.” The sectumsempra incident flashes in his memories, but he pushes it away. He hasn’t gotten around to telling Charlie that one--it’s between him and Malfoy and Madam Pomfrey, he supposes. The only other people that know about it are dead, which is sickeningly relieving.

Charlie gives him an odd look before joining him in laughter.

Harry tries not to think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls tell me if you like reading this because it's entirely self indulgent and half of me wants to take it down immediately but on the other hand I have like 35k+ words...
> 
> Charlie's a big ol' soft boy here and I regret nothing


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note because I fucked up when I posted the first chapter...  
> This work is still very much IN PROGRESS. My plan is to update at least weekly, but sometimes I get impatient.
> 
> ALSO. THANK YOU FOR ALL OF THE SUPPORT!!! Each of your comments genuinely makes my day and I can't wait to hear what you all think as the story progresses!

True to his word, Charlie accompanies him to the eighth year dormitory. “Do you want to come back tomorrow night before bed?” Charlie asks as they wait for the rotating stairs to find them.

Harry looks up at him. Something about his energy is off. It’s almost cagey. “Yeah, okay.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought it might be nice to check in after your first day back. I’m sure it’s bound to bring up memories for you.” The stairs finally allow them to move, and they begin their descent to the third floor.

Harry doesn’t mention that tomorrow is also Charlie’s first day, that memories are just as likely to come to him as to Harry. Maybe that’s why Charlie looks so anxious. “No, I will. You know I can never turn down your hot cocoa.”

Charlie beams, and Harry’s face warms.

Dumbledore appears to have been waiting for Harry to return, and Harry just barely refrains from grabbing onto Charlie’s robes and their eyes meet. “Ah, Mr. Weasley. It’s good to see you back on Hogwarts grounds.” Dumbledore smiles, hardly even glancing at Harry.

“It’s good to be back, sir.” Charlie’s posture is straight for the first time Harry can remember; he had forgotten how tall the guy was. Well, at least to Harry, which isn’t saying much. “I’m just here to return Harry to his common room.”

Dumbledore’s looks to Harry expectantly. “Yes, of course.”

Harry squares his shoulders and steps out from behind Charlie. “B-Bertie Bott’s.”

Dumbledore gives him a sad kind of smile, one that he’s never seen on the man. “Sleep well, Mr. Potter.” Dumbledore sighs. Harry looks back and waves goodbye to Charlie before disappearing into the dormitory.

Ron is waiting alone in the common room, dozing on a cushion in front of the fireplace. “You could have just left a note,” Harry says, laughing as Ron jumps to alertness.

“Oh, fuck off,” Ron swats at Harry’s leg, but misses in his half-asleep daze. “And I’m waiting out here because I have good news and bad news before we go to our room.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“The good news is that since there’s an odd number of guys, we got the room with three people instead of four.”

Harry sighs in relief. One less person to share a shower with. “And the bad?”

Ron cringes. “We’re sharing our room with Malfoy. No one else wanted him near them and we pulled the short straw.”

Harry groans, but there is still a slight feeling of relief. It could be worse, he supposes, especially after the earlier truce between the two. Thinking of the truce, he pats his robes, making sure the gift box is still there. He has to admit, he’s immensely curious, but something tells him to wait until he’s alone to open it. He doesn’t need Ron’s probable overreaction or Malfoy’s prying eyes as he waits to watch Harry’s reaction. And by now, he’s tired enough to be okay with putting off the gift until tomorrow.

By the time Harry knocks on Charlie’s door the next night, he is ready to collapse. There hasn’t been a single thing that was easy to do today, from waking up at four a.m. to Malfoy’s night terrors, to attending lessons and realizing that a year without learning was going to bite him in the arse, just as Hermoine had said it would. Even the meals were a struggle; now that the first-years had gotten past their shock of seeing Hogwarts for the first time and being sorted, they had time to find Harry and thank him and question him and even ask for an autograph or two. At first, Hermoine and Ron had tried to help protect him, but they soon found themselves with crowds just as large. They were insatiable, and none of the professors were even there to notice.

When Charlie opens his door, the first thing Harry notices is that he looks just as tired as Harry. The second thing he notices is the three students sitting in Charlie’s office, turning in their seats to see who the new arrival is. “Hey,” Charlie says and steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “Sorry, I didn’t think there would be as many students coming to me today as there have been.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I can’t imagine I’m the only one having a hard time. I can come back tomorrow, if you want.”

“No,” Charlie says quickly, grabbing Harry’s arm even though he hasn’t moved. “Just...come back after curfew, okay? You don’t look great and I want to know why.”

And damn if Harry doesn’t almost break down right there like he’s in first year all over again. “Okay,” he whispers.

Charlie frowns, uses his hold to pull Harry closer and into a hug. “Will you be okay if I let you go? You can wait in my chambers if not.”

Harry nods into Charlie’s chest. “Mhm,” he mumbles, not trusting his voice.

Charlie squeezes him for a moment before releasing him. “Just thirty minutes, okay?” Harry nods again. Charlie bites his lip and watches Harry for another few seconds before turning and disappearing back into his office.

The last thing Harry expects to see outside the Gryffindor dormitory is Draco Malfoy jogging in sweatpants and trainers. He blinks once, twice, and the man is still there, running with his eyes on the ground. Harry realizes he won’t run around him just a second too late, and Malfoy slams into him, tackling them both to the ground.

“Merlin, Potter,” Malfoy groans when he looks up. “If you didn’t want to be my friend there are easier ways to tell me so than literally taking me down.”

Harry glares at him. “I’m not the one who wasn’t watching where I was going.” He takes in Malfoy’s attire, his panting breath. “Are you running inside?”

Malfoy shrugs, still catching his breath and holding his wrist to his chest. “I like the stairs better than hills.”

Harry pushes himself back onto his feet. “Right. I guess I’ll let you get to it, then. Is your arm okay?”

Malfoy shakes out his wrist as he stands and starts jogging in place. “I’ll be fine, Potter. I’m not fragile.”

Harry’s eyebrows draw together. “Never thought you were.”

He turns away and looks back toward the Gryffindor dorm entrance with longing, only to be stopped by a call of “Potter!”

“Yeah?” Harry replies, unimpressed.

Malfoy approaches him again, leans in close until Harry has to take a few steps back. This doesn’t seem to deter Malfoy. “You haven’t opened my gift yet, have you?” he smirks, looking into Harry’s eyes in a way that makes Harry shiver.

He’d shoved the box in his desk drawer with some other knick-knacks under the guise of unpacking last night and hadn’t thought about it since. “Why would you think that?” Harry says evenly.

Malfoy’s smirk grows. “Because you’d never be able to keep a straight face around me if you had.”

Malfoy turns and continues on his jog without a look behind him. Harry stays frozen in place until the Fat Lady’s portrait swings open and nearly sends him to the floor again.

“You don’t look like you’ve slept very well,” Harry says when he returns to Charlie’s exactly thirty minutes later. Harry leans against the kitchen island while Charlie tends to a pot of warm milk on the stove.

Charlie snorts. “You sure know how to make a bloke feel good about himself, huh?”

Harry shrugs. “Have you?”

Charlie stirs the pot and covers it before turning to face Harry. “I don’t think anyone has. I really should buy McGonagall a fruit basket or something. I don’t know how she did this for so long.” He rests his forearms on the island and leans into them, shoulders tense.

Harry places a hand over Charlie’s, and Charlie meets his eyes with interest. “I’m sure things will settle down once lessons get underway.”

“And that’s another thing!” Harry can feel the way Charlie’s muscles contract under his hand before he pushes off the island, running his hands through his hair in distress. “I’ve never been a professor before. I’ve spent the whole summer preparing, but now that it’s here...I don’t know.” he shakes his head. “If today is any indication of how that will go, maybe I should quit while I’m ahead.”

“Shut up, Charlie.” Harry squeezes his hand. “At least give it until tomorrow before you start drafting your resignation. My first Transfiguration lesson is tomorrow; I’ll be the judge of your professor skills.” So for the first time in his life, Harry swears he’ll pay attention for an entire lesson.

Within the first ten minutes, he has already failed miserably.

The first thing Harry notices upon walking into the transfiguration classroom is that Charlie looks younger when he pulls his hair back, almost young enough to be an eighth year himself. Unlike the rest of the professors, he lies his robes over his desk chair as soon as he reaches it. Now, he stands in front of the eighth years in faded muggle skinny jeans and a purple button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; his muscles bulge against them like they’re a size too small. Tattoos peek out from under his sleeves and his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to see the beginning of a vertical scar on his chest. “I’m sure most of you know me by now,” he smiles nervously at Ron and Harry, and Harry blushes; Charlie is adorable. Hermoine is sitting between them, looking pointedly at her unblemished parchment, quill tense in her hand. “But I’m Professor Weasley, and I’ll be your Transfiguration professor for the year.”

His voice is somehow light and friendly but demands attention at the same time. A quick glance around the room shows two main reactions to the new professor: students are either enthralled and can’t take their eyes off of him, as seems to be the case for most of the women (along with surprisingly Malfoy and not-so-surprisingly Seamus), or they take the Hermione approach of staring at their desks in submission, obviously avoiding looking at the front of the room. 

Charlie frowns and looks to Harry, who decides to join the latter group. He knows exactly what the problem is, is surprised the man couldn’t figure it out himself.

Who let Charlie Weasley dress like a sex god?

Charlie continues, his voice now lacking the confidence Harry’s so used to hearing. “Outside of the classroom, feel free to call me Charlie; I know it could get confusing with two Professor Weasleys about the castle.” The class is dead silent. Not even a nod of the head responds to him. “Right. I suppose we can get started then. As I’m sure you’ve all done the assigned reading over the summer, let’s open our books to review what we’ve learned.” A rumbling groan escapes the class, the first real response Charlie gets from the students, and he smiles.

The rest of the class is an improvement of the first five minutes, but most students are still hesitant to even look at him when he’s not facing the board. Harry had sworn he wouldn’t speak up this year, but takes pity on Charlie halfway through the lesson and ends up answering 80% of the questions for the rest of the period. Hermione follows his lead and answers the other questions. 

Harry gives him what he hopes is an encouraging smile when he dismisses the class, a promise that they’ll talk later as Ron drags him to lunch. They’re barely out of the room before the rest of the eighth years mob them.

“Ron, you never mentioned your brother is Sex on a Stick,” Seamus leers.

“Is he single?” Lavender asks.

“I’d sure like him to teach me a thing or two.” Hannah Abbott smirks.

Ron pulls Harry and Hermoine through the crowd with a heavy grip and quick feet, his face pale and clammy. “We’re eating in the kitchens,” Ron growls under his breath, ducking into a corridor before the rest of the class can catch up with them. “Fucking Charlie.”

Hermoine looks at Harry while Ron opens the kitchen doors, and neither can stop themselves from blushing. Hermione gives him an odd look for a few seconds before he realizes he’s given himself away. “Harry?” she starts. Damn her and her observation skills. Why can’t she just be wrapped up in her own problems like everyone else?

Thankfully, Ron cuts her off. “We’re in,” he grumbles, stomping through the doors and sitting himself at a prep table. The house elves are more than happy to stock them with enough food that they wouldn’t have to come back down for dinner, if Ron is still in his mood by then. They eat mostly in silence, and Harry does a spectacular job of ignoring Hermoine’s prying eyes.

If Hermoine asks him if he’s gay, Harry’s not sure what he’ll answer with. Right now, he’s at a solid “maybe” that sounds more and more like a “yes” every day. It’s not that he doesn’t like women, really. It’s just that the more time he spends with Charlie, the more often he becomes the main character in Harry’s fantasies.

After today, he doesn’t think anyone can blame him.

Ginny was great, and Harry would be the first to admit it. After the battle, though, grief drove them apart. Harry could barely handle his own feelings, let alone a girlfriend’s, and Neville had been the one to step up and help her put herself back together. They were happy together, and that was all Harry wanted for her.

Of course, this forced him to face the tangled mess of uncertainty that was his sexuality head on.

He’d tried to work it out for himself on the rare occasion he’d been able to get away from the Burrow alone. He’d spent the better part of a week bar-hopping muggle pubs, gay and straight, and by the end he’d made out with nearly 20 people and still had no idea what he wanted. He supposes that means he’s bisexual. Maybe. Regardless, he knows his best friend won’t stop looking until she gets an answer, and when he tells her he’d rather not go to the library with her tonight, he knows he’s not dodging a bullet, only prolonging the inevitable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter is a little jumpy, but I also think that gets better as we get further into the story.
> 
> Fun fact: I wrote the previous chapter, this chapter, and the next one in 24 hours. It was about 8k words, which is the most I've ever written in one day!
> 
> (aka you could say I'm kinda excited about this story)
> 
> What's your top daily word count?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I was supposed to update this last night as I was getting into bed.
> 
> Whoops.

Charlie is grumpy when he opens his door for Harry--there’s no other way to describe it. He’s pouting and his arms are crossed over his cozy Weasley sweater and as he leads Harry to the living room, his steps land with more force than necessary. “I’m hopeless, aren’t I?” he groans, throwing himself onto the couch and grabbing a sleeve of biscuits from the coffee table.

“Hardly,” Harry bites his lip to hide his smile at Charlie’s antics. It’s rare that Charlie lets his emotions get the best of him, and disgruntlement should never look so adorable on anyone. 

“Don’t lie to me. That was worse than yesterday!” Harry sits in his usual seat and Charlie leans into him. Harry resists the urge to cuddle against him.

“That’s because all the eighth years are horny almost-adults that haven’t had an attractive professor since second year. They don’t know what to do with themselves.”

Charlie looks at him with curious, hopeful eyes. “What?”

Harry stands so Charlie won’t see his blush. “Do you need me to spell it out for you? You’re fit, okay? All any of them talked about for the rest of the day were ‘Professor Weasley’s arms’ and ‘Professor Weasley’s tattoos.’ Had Ron in a right state all evening.” Even as he walked out of the common room for their nightly ritual, Ron had begged him to talk to Charlie about his attire.

Needless to say, Harry does not expect Charlie to light up like Christmas has come early. “You think I’m fit?” He smirks. 

Harry gives him an unimpressed look, fights against the embarrassed laugh in his throat. “Is that what you’re taking away from this conversation?” He knows avoiding the question is as incriminating as answering it, but he’s not convinced he’ll be able to lie about this.

Charlie’s happy face falls back into something like satisfaction, like it’s something he knew all along. “It is now.” He leans back and stretches his arms behind his head. “What an interesting development to my evening.” He shifts his position, and his sweater rides up over his hips. “Tell me, Harry, how long have you thought I was ‘fit’?”

Harry shrugs and looks at the fire--avoids looking at that pale flash of skin above his sweats, really. Charlie stands and approaches him. “Don’t be shy,” he practically purrs. He reaches out slowly with one hand, giving Harry plenty of time to retreat should he want to.

Right now, Harry doesn’t think that an earthquake could move him. “I guess...not long after you moved back and you started coming ‘round Grimmauld.” Harry swallows. He doesn’t know why he’s admitting it so easily. Maybe deep down he realizes lying about it now would only be delaying the inevitable, and he’s already done enough of that today. Or maybe it’s that burning, wanting gaze Charlie’s got fixed on him, the one he always uses when they stay up too late and talk about things way too deeply. 

At that point, Harry is usually too tired to think much about it. But now, he’s wide awake. He licks his suddenly dry lips, not taking his eyes off of Charlie.

Charlie bites his lower lip. “Interesting,” he hums. “And you’ve just been keeping it a secret for three months?” Harry thinks back to their time at Grimmauld, to the days where he would refuse to get out of bed. Charlie wouldn’t push him, most times; instead, he’d force Harry to relinquish half of his blankets and curl up next to him like the best kind of dog. He’d felt like he could sleep when Charlie was there, like he didn’t have to do everything on his own, for once. He’d gotten that feeling once he’d moved to the Burrow, too, with Ron around all the time, but there was a strange calming quality of being with Charlie that Ron couldn’t touch.

His hand lands on Harry’s shoulder, soothes the groove at the bottom of his neck. “I…” Harry starts and stops as he finds the courage to meet Charlie’s eyes. They’re so intense they take Harry’s breath away. It’s the kind of look that no one has ever given him, except maybe Dumbledore. One that sees so deeply that it makes Harry’s bones quiver. “I didn’t want to make things weird.” he tries again, ignoring the way Charlie’s thumb runs over his Adam’s apple. “You were helping me, and I couldn’t lose you.” He leans his head back as Charlie moves closer so he can keep eye contact. “I still can’t,” the words are a whisper, but Harry knows Charlie can feel them against his throat.

The intensity of Charlie’s gaze falters for just a moment, and a smile plays on his lips. “Harry, you never have to worry about losing me.”

Harry’s stomach twists. Not thinking about losing someone isn’t a privilege he’s been allowed in years. “No?” Harry asks, breathless.

Charlie shakes his head slowly, softly, and leans until his lips are mere centimeters from Harry’s. “I think you’re rather stuck with me.”

Harry surges forward at the same time someone knocks on Charlie’s office door.

Their lips connect and break apart just as fast, Harry walking backwards until he hits a wall, Charlie shaking the daze out of his head and smoothing down his clothing. “I should get that,” Charlie says, practically running from his chambers.

Harry doesn’t blame him, especially when he sees the guest. Bill is waiting, looking absolutely miserable. “Harry.” He makes an effort to put on some semblance of a happy face, but fails rather spectacularly.

“Hey, Bill. Sorry, I was just heading out.” Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and stands next to Charlie, waiting for Bill to vacate the doorway.

“Um, right.” Bill shuffles out of the way.

“Put on a kettle, I’ll be right in,” Charlie says to his brother, guiding him gently to the kitchen with a hand on his back. “Sorry, I forgot he was coming by,” he whispers when Bill has disappeared.

“Don’t worry about it. He looks like he needs you more than I do.” Harry offers a small smile, and Charlie grabs his hand.

“We’re okay, right?” Charlie asks, a nervous tension in his forehead.

Harry looks to the kitchen, then in the hallway, before reaching up and kissing Charlie’s cheek. “Of course we are.”

Charlie absolutely beams, and Harry’s heart stutters. “Same time tomorrow?”

Harry nods. “Sounds perfect. And Charlie?” Harry asks before closing the door behind him. “Maybe wear your robes in class tomorrow, see if that helps your students focus.”

Harry wouldn’t believe the blush on Charlie’s face if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes.

Once the door clicks shut behind him, Harry allows himself to breathe. He can’t help bringing his fingers to his lips. Charlie’s lips were rough, but not altogether unpleasant. He wants to feel them better, longer, and even with only that one second of experience, Harry knows he can’t even consider denying it anymore: he likes guys as much as he’s ever liked girls. Maybe even more so. 

“Harry?” A hesitant voice calls down the hall, and Harry recognizes the voice instantly. Just fucking brilliant. 

“Ginny,” Harry pulls on a friendly smile, hopes it’s too dark in the corridor for Ginny to pick up on the flush of his face. How is it that he sees more of the Weasley children here than he ever did at their own damn house?

“What are you up to this late? Surely you can’t have homework already,” she doesn’t look anything more than curious, thank Merlin. Her eyes scan the hall around them as she speaks.

“You know, just visiting Charlie. He invited me for cocoa and whatnot.” Harry prays his voice sounds more normal to Ginny than it does to him.

Ginny nods, gives him a small smile. “I’m glad you’ve gotten on this summer. Mum’s always worried about you two.” Harry raises an eyebrow, and Ginny huffs. “You’re the quiet ones, you know? You don’t talk to her about much and she worries.” Ginny backtracks when she sees the turn of Harry’s face. “It’s just a mum thing, I wouldn’t think about it too much. It was after our breakup and you were mourning and Charlie went and uprooted his entire life to come back. She just wants to know you’re okay.”

He makes a mental note to write Molly soon. After all she’s gone through for him, she deserves more than he’s given her. Arthur, too. “Sometimes I worry about Charlie, too.” He admits. 

Ginny pauses. “I wouldn’t. He’s strong and he’s never been terribly emotional. I’d be more worried if he was throwing fits like Bill. It’s just how he is.”

Harry wants to ask her how she knows, get information out of her that Charlie would never tell him outright, but he doesn’t. What if she gets suspicious? Hermione knowing is one thing—not that he doesn’t trust Ginny, but out of his friends, she’s the most likely to try and intervene on his behalf. Not to mention he has no idea how she’ll react to her brother being the one Harry’s feelings have moved on to. “Well, suppose I should be off to bed,” he says finally, remembering only now how he has to get to his room.

“Are you alright?” Ginny asks, watching his demeanor.

Harry sighs and looks Ginny over. He supposes she wouldn’t be the worst person to ask to come with him. She’d probably take the mickey for a bit, but that was worth avoiding alone time with Dumbledore. “Care to walk back with me? I’ll give you a look at the common room.”

Ginny’s eyes brighten, and Harry feels relief in his veins. “Sure! Neville’s been telling me about it, but he’s come up to Gryffindor the past couple of days. I think he’s a bit homesick for it, really.” She continues chatting on their walk, and it’s nice. He feels normal. She barely stops talking to let Harry say the password, let alone give Dumbledore anything more than a quick wave, and then they’re inside and Harry could kiss her.

Unlike last night, the common room is still buzzing with activity. Most of the Gryffindors and a few Hufflepuffs have gathered around a game of Exploding Snap. In the corners of the room there are pockets of couples and small groups talking or playing chess. Hermoine and Ron are one of the groups, and they appear to be talking rather intently until they see Harry come in. 

“Wow, this is so much cozier than Gryffindor,” Ginny comments. Harry has to agree. He thinks that the room must be a conglomeration of all four common rooms--the walls are covered in house memorabilia and although there’s plenty of intermingling, each house seems to gravitate toward one area of the room. They Gryffindors are by the fireplace decorated with gold accents and a long red couch. Next to them is a cozy corner of black beanbag chairs and yellow blankets. Across from them are the study tables, where a few Ravenclaws have chosen books off the nearby navy bookshelf, and next to them are large, regal-looking chairs arranged in a circle of Slytherin green. It’s got a chaotic, yet homey vibe, like he feels when he goes to the Burrow.

“Oi, Ginny! Aren’t you on patrol?” Ron asks as him and Hermoine approach.

Ginny shrugs, rolling her eyes at her brother. “Just making sure Harry got back safely.”

From the Gryffindor crowd, there are a few jeers and wolf whistles. Ginny pulls out her wand and everyone’s attention returns to the game. “Thanks for with walking me, Gin.” Harry says quietly.

She smiles and nudges him in the shoulder. “Anytime, Harry. Guess I’ll be off, then.” She stops by the crowd where Neville watches the game and gives him a snog before leaving, much to Ron’s displeasure.

Harry follows Ron and Hermoine back to the place near the Ravenclaw tables they’d managed to snag. “Please tell me you told Charlie to wear some fucking clothes next lesson,” Ron looks at him hopefully. “If I have to hear one more person talk about shagging my brother, I’ll lose it.”

“Really, Ron, it’s not like he was underdressed, per say,” Hermoine tries, already knowing it’s in vain. 

“Either way, I did talk to him.” Harry cuts in. “Hopefully it won’t be a problem anymore.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron brightens. “It’s bad enough that him and Bill are in charge of me.” Ron shivers. “Thought I’d be done with that when they moved out of the Burrow.”

Hermoine laughs, snuggling against him. “They can’t be that bad.”

Ron scoffs. “‘They can’t be that bad,’ she says. Maybe not anymore, but…” Ron grimaces as he thinks back, no doubt to the countless pranks his older brothers performed on him.

“Bill doesn’t seem to be in the mood to ruin anyone’s life these days,” Harry says, and the mood sombers.

Ron frowns and nods, pulling Hermoine closer. “‘Suppose you’re right about that. Wonder how his lessons have been.”

Harry shrugs. “We’ll find out tomorrow.”

“I’m worried,” Ron blurts out, eyes wide. “About Bill, you know. I don’t think he’s...doing well.”

“I don’t blame him,” Harry sighs. He feels the weight of Fleur’s death every day; he can’t imagine how it must be for her husband. “He was with Charlie when I left, though.”

The tension in Ron’s shoulders loosens slightly, and he nods. “Good, that’s good. Charlie gets him.”  _ Charlie gets everyone _ , Harry thinks. The thought lends itself to an awful kind of twisting in his gut. How mundane Harry must appear to the dragon tamer. He’s spent all summer playing therapist to his family, to Harry especially. He must need a break, some way to get away from all of them. How could he let himself burden Charlie when Charlie’s already carrying the weight of his entire family’s grief?

“Mate?” Ron’s hand waves in front of his face, and when Harry focuses again, he cringes at the looks of concern on Ron and Hermoine’s faces.

“What? Sorry.” Harry says quickly, eyes flickering to the hallway leading to the rooms. He needs an escape plan.

“You’ve been staring off like you killed a puppy for nearly five minutes, Harry,” Hermoine says. She reaches forward and pats him on the knee. “What’s wrong?”

Harry looks at his lap. “Nothing more than the usual.”

Hermoine narrows her eyes, staring Harry down until she decides she’s satisfied with the answer. “Have you thought about talking to someone? Other than Charlie, I mean.”

Harry bites his lip; she sees it too. Merlin, he must be such a drain. On Charlie, on his friends, on everyone. He can’t seem to get out of his fucking head and the more time he spends there, the more twisted his thoughts become, and he can’t make sense out of any of it. Suddenly, his mind is back on this kiss, on Charlie’s nervousness after, and it clicks. Charlie’s a  _ professor _ .  _ Harry’s _ professor. He can’t get caught fraternizing with a student. He’d checked on Harry after to make sure he’d still have his job, is all. He thinks back to the confidence, the lightheartedness of Charlie’s words. Harry knows Charlie’s experienced--with a body like that, how can he not be? Like Harry’s been thinking, he’s nothing special, nothing more than a burden Charlie can’t get rid of and is making the best of.

“I’ll think about it,” Harry says finally. Deep down, he knows that if he can’t talk to Charlie, he won’t talk to anyone. He’s too exhausted these days to explain his life to another person, professional or not. He wants someone to just  _ know _ and understand and not make him feel bad about feeling bad.

Hermoine smiles and pulls him into a hug. “Good. Now,” she stands, pulling Ron up with her. “I think my bed is calling me. If I stay up much longer, I’m sure I’ll fall asleep at breakfast.”

Harry agrees and stands with them. He’s almost to the boys’ hallway when Ron stops him. “I’ll be there in a minute, yeah?” he says, still hugging his girlfriend close.

Harry playfully rolls his eyes. “Don’t take all night, Weasley.” He feels the smile fade as his friends turn away from him.

In the room, the lights are already out. Malfoy’s bed curtains are pulled shut. He’s glad; if he had to get into another spar with Malfoy tonight, he might have lost it. He’s not sure if he wants to cry or scream and the last time he felt that way, it ended up being both. He wonders if he should put up some silencing charms--one night without nightmares is luck, but two is nearly an impossibility. He does rather prefer that Ron wake him up instead of suffering on his own, though, so he decides against it, Malfoy be damned.

Ron returns to the room just after Harry takes off his glasses and sets them on the nightstand. With his curtains halfway closed, Ron can’t tell if he’s asleep or not, and he doesn’t answer when Ron says his name. Today’s the longest day he’s had in months, and he just wants it to be over. It doesn’t take long for Ron to fall into his own bed, and only once he hears the soft snores of his best friend does he let his tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are so sweet on here so I hope you enjoyed this update!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, look who finally got time to update!
> 
> School sucks. That is all.

“Blimey, Potter, you and Malfoy get into it already?” Seamus asks when Harry sits between him and Neville at breakfast.

Harry groans in response, pushing his plate away so he can rest his head on his arms. He knew someone was going to comment on the dark circles under his eyes that looked more like bruises from the second he stepped out of the shower. He hadn’t been able to find sleep until nearly 3 a.m., his mind racing, thoughts dragging him into a pit that took him hours to crawl out of. By 4:30, he’d woken Ron up twice--Malfoy once--and had given up on getting any more rest. It had given him time to get a jump start on homework, though; Hermoine would be impressed when he told her.

Porcelain nudges his arm until Harry looks up to see Ron, watching with concern. Hermoine’s attention jumps between the two. “You should eat something, mate. Get some energy.” He keeps pushing at the plate of toast until Harry lets it be placed in front of him. Then, Ron pours him a glass of pumpkin juice and looks at him expectantly.

Harry shoves the toast in his mouth, swallowing it down without really tasting it. He chugs the pumpkin juice just as the tables begin to clear and students stand, making their way to class. Harry’s got double Potions and Transfiguration before he can return to bed, and he can only hope that Slughorn will take things easy since it’s their first lesson, or that at the very least Ron doesn’t mind doing the hard work today.

By the end of Potions, Ron and Harry’s project looks to be about twenty shades too dark, and the smells are noxious enough that Harry feels lightheaded from leaning over it the past hour. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen!” Slughorn calls. Harry jumps and a few drops of the potion splatter onto the desk, which immediately begins disintegrating on contact. “Our time is nearly up, so do begin bottling up your solutions and turning them in. Don’t forget to label them properly, or I’ll be forced to take off points.”

Harry looks to Ron in panic. Slughorn will have no choice but to fail them on their first assignment of the year, and Harry feels like he can’t breathe. Oddly, Ron looks more concerned about Harry than their Potions grade. He steps closer to Harry, cringing slightly when the smell of the potion hits his nostrils. “Mate, why don’t you go clean up in the bathroom? I’ll finish things up here. You don’t look too great.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He bolts for the door and doesn’t come back until he’s splashed enough cold water in his face to no longer resemble a zombie. By the time he’s finished, he’s sure he’s missed the end of Potions and the beginning of Transfiguration, but he can’t find it in himself to care too much.

Just before he walks into the Potions lab to get his bag, he pauses. Ron and Slughorn’s voices are just barely carry out of the lab.

“Sir, if there’s any way you could give us another chance on this assignment, I’d appreciate it.” Ron pleads.

Slughorn sighs. “Well, Mr. Weasley, I could give you both a Saturday detention this weekend to work on it, or else you’ll have to take whatever mark I assign to this...sample.” In his mind, Harry can see the way his professor’s face tenses as he tries to be polite. 

“We’ll take it. I’m sure Harry will agree. He’s just had a bad day.”

“Yes, he didn’t look very well during breakfast or the lesson.” Slughorn agrees. “Is there anything you think I could do for him?”

“This make-up session is more than enough, sir. I’ll make sure he’s more well-rested for it.”

“Yes, yes...just watch out for him, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron pauses. “Of course, sir. May I have a pass for Harry and I to go to Transfiguration?”

Harry wonders if it’s suspicious for him to walk in just as their conversation ends, but he decides he doesn’t care. “Ah, Harry! Mr. Weasley here mentioned you were feeling a bit peaky.” Slughorn says, eyeing him carefully.

Harry works quickly to collect his things. “Yes sir, I think I’m feeling a bit better now.” Slughorn mentions the Saturday detention and Harry readily agrees before the professor sends him and Ron on their way.

Charlie barely takes a look at their pass before snapping at them to take their seats in what Harry’s began to dub as his teacher voice. “Where have you been?” Hermoine hisses under her breath as soon as they’re seated.

Ron smiles easily. “We just ran over time in Potions, love. Nothing to worry about.”

Hermoine looks to Harry before accepting his answer and gives him that puppy dog pity look he’s been trying to avoid. “We’ve already been assigned to write two feet of parchment on human-to-animal transfiguration for the next lesson.”

Ron groans loudly, and when Charlie calls him out, Harry smiles for the first time all day.

A small, familiar box that’s been hidden in Harry’s desk drawer for the past two days sails through the room and lands directly on Harry’s DADA book. He’s been sitting on his bed for the past twenty minutes trying to read through the first chapter of the advanced defense book Bill assigned. He doesn’t think he’ll struggle with the class, but he definitely thinks he’ll learn something. “How did you find that?” Harry asks, sounding much calmer than he is. Inside, he contemplates the punishment he would get for hexing Malfoy in their bedroom. Ron would back him up, surely. 

“That’s unimportant,” Malfoy replies from the doorway, picking lint off his robes. “You haven’t opened it yet; that’s rude.”

“More rude than going through people’s personal property?” Harry snaps back, tossing the box toward his pillow. “Just for that, I won’t be opening it anytime soon.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes, then flops onto his bed. “You’re so obtuse, Potter.” He groans. “Really, it’s no wonder it took you seven years to kill the Dark Lord.”

“And you’re impossible,” Harry says, not taking his eyes off his book. His fingers tighten around the edges and he reminds himself to breathe normally. 

“I always thought you liked a challenge,” Malfoy props himself up on his elbows, watching intently from his bed. 

Harry looks up for the first time since Malfoy entered the room. “You’re not a challenge; you’re a menace.” He knows Malfoy’s just baiting him, but today, he doesn’t care. He’s tired and anxious about meeting Charlie, who definitely noticed something was off during class. He’d thought schoolwork would take his mind off things, but so far it’s only served as fuel to memories of the cruciatus whizzing past his ear and dodging giants’ feet in the Forbidden Forest.

“Ouch,” Malfoy smirks at him, wand twirling around his fingers casually. “Wasn’t sure you still had it in you.”

Harry sighs and slams his book shut. He hadn’t been getting much reading done before, but now that Malfoy’s here, he’s cutting his loses. “When have I ever not had it in me to fight you?” he asks, tossing the book over to his desk where it lands with a satisfying thud.

Malfoy laughs, and Harry thinks it’s the first time he’s ever heard the sound without it being cruel or dangerous. It’s nice, like windchimes in the afternoon. “Fair enough.”

“I thought you wanted to be friends,” Harry looks at him in confusion. First he’s giving Harry presents, and now he’s goading him into a duel?

Malfoy hums. “Not until you open my truce gift.” 

Instead of leading Harry into his chambers right away as usual, after Charlie opens the door, he goes to his desk and sits. “I need to talk to you about something, as your Head of House. I thought it might be easier to do that here.” Charlie gestures to the seats on this other side of the desk, and Harry eyes them warily before taking a seat.

“I didn’t think I’d done anything yet to get detention,” Harry jokes.

Charlie gives him a tight little smile, one that’s more pitying than honest. “Harry, you don’t look well, and people have noticed.”

Harry sighs. He’d figured that was what this was about. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Are you sure it isn’t more than that?” Charlie asks, voice soft, welcoming. “Because I’ve had no less than three people express their concern about you to me, one of which being your roommate.”

Damn Ron and his big mouth and his big brother. Harry knows he shouldn’t blame him, but he wants to. “Maybe I’m a bit anxious about my lessons,” Harry says slowly. “But I think that’s to be expected, given I haven’t had them in over a year.”

Charlie nods. “Yes, of course. Is there anything else?”

Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He can feel the tide of tears in his chest, and he tries to swallow them down before they can get too close to the surface. “Nothing specific.” Harry shrugs.

Charlie’s face is impassive. “Okay. You know I can help you, right? You just have to say the word and we can talk about options, perhaps seeing a Mind Healer or altering your course load. No one expects you to bounce right back from everything; we just want to make sure you’re getting what you need.” Harry hears the rolling sound of a drawer opening, and then Charlie’s offering a vial to him. “I talked to Madame Pomfrey earlier, and she gave me a calming draught to pass on to you. She thought it might help you sleep.”

Harry only just bites back a snappy retort about being an adult and taking care of himself--if one more person suggests he go to a quack, he’ll snap. Instead, he takes the extended potion and shoves it into his robes. “Okay. Thanks, Charlie.” He tries to smile, but something on Charlie’s face tells him he does a pretty shitty job. 

Charlie stands and runs a hand through his hair. “Great. Now, I’m done being your professor, so let’s go in here.” He unlocks the door to his chambers with a skeleton key around his neck.

Harry takes a seat by the already roaring fire and Charlie disappears into the kitchen. He hears glasses clinking followed by Charlie’s voice. “You know that anything that happens here is private, right? That this is two friends together and not a teacher and student?” He says.

“Yes,” Harry answers uncertainly, wringing his hands together. This must be  _ the  _ talk, Harry thinks. The one that lets him down easy and asks him to just stay friends.

“Good,” Charlie says, walking into the room with a beaming grin, two glasses, and a full bottle of Ogden’s Finest. “Because you look like you need some of this.”

Harry smiles nervously and takes the firewhiskey as soon as it’s handed to him. “That looks like exactly what I need.”

Charlie downs his whiskey, plops onto the couch, and pours himself another, finishing it nearly just as fast. Harry raises an eyebrow before following his motions, allowing Charlie to refill his glass before setting the bottle to the side. “So, I’m saying this for me and no one else.” Charlie turns so his body is facing Harry’s, and his anxiety intensifies. “Anything you say stays between us, just like usual.” he waits for Harry’s nod before continuing. “What’s really going on with you? I’ve never seen you look this... _ tired _ before.” Which is saying something, given Charlie’s seen Harry sleep for 36 hours straight.

Harry holds his glass in both hands, hoping that will keep it from shaking too much. He takes a deep drink from it before answering. “I was just doing a lot of thinking last night.”

“About?” Charlie asks before Harry can continue.

Harry stares into his glass. “The usual, I guess. The war, Ron and Hermoine,” he takes a deep breath, “us.”

Charlie shifts, and the cushion depresses closer to Harry. “That’s a new one. Care to share?” Harry shivers, despite the fire bright in front of them. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine,” he says immediately.

Charlie scoffs, grabbing the quilt off the back of the couch. “Just let me take care of you a bit,” he murmurs, draping it on Harry’s shoulders.

“You’ve been ‘taking care’ of me for four months, Charlie. Aren’t you tired of it?” Harry asks before he can stop himself.

Charlie pauses, takes him in. “Do I look like I’m tired of it?” Harry doesn’t answer. “I wouldn’t keep inviting you here if I was.”

“How, though?” Harry presses. “You’ve done nothing but help other people mourn since the battle. Doesn’t that drain you?”

He shrugs. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“But what if I’m too much?” Harry sniffs. He can feel his eyes getting glassy, so he takes off his glasses and rubs his palms across his face.

Charlie tugs Harry closer using the edges of the quilt. “You’re not.” he says simply, confidently. “Did someone give you the impression that you were?”

He shakes his head. “I just...I haven’t seen you even blink since the end of the war. Your--Your brother died, Charlie,” Harry feels a pang of guilt as Charlie flinches, but he continues. “And you’ve been so busy with taking care of your family and watching me that...I guess I worry that you’re taking too much on.” He finishes what’s left in his glass and sits it on the table.

Harry hasn’t properly cried in front of Charlie since the week he’d arrived at Grimmauld. But now he’s thinking about Percy and he knows, he  _ knows _ that he’s not making much sense but now that he’s started he can’t seem to stop. “Harry, where is all of this coming from?” is all Charlie asks. He pulls Harry close so they’re touching, Harry against Charlie’s side, their knees getting in the way of each other.

Harry has to try a few times before he can speak without choking. “I just don’t want to feel like a burden. All the time we’ve known each other, I’ve been moping and moody and...I guess I don’t understand why you kissed me last night when I can’t see any reason that you’d want to be with me out of anything other than obligation.”

Charlie is quiet for a while, which only makes Harry feel more embarrassed about the soft, hiccuping breaths his crying has caused him. He tries to feel the rise and fall of Charlie’s side against his, but every few seconds another wave crashes over him and more tears fall, which he tries to hide under the blanket. Charlie doesn’t say anything--he never does, just lets him ride them out until the subside.

“That’s what you think, then?” he says finally, voice rough. Harry looks up at him, and almost immediately regrets it. That deep look is back, and his face is so open that it hurts. Harry can see the indignation, the worry, the disbelief written across every inch of his face. And those eyes are enough to bring forth another wave all on their own. “That you’re an obligation to me?”

When Charlie’s looking at him like that, telling him anything but the truth feels like blasphemy. “Yeah, I guess. That’s all I seem to ever feel like, since the end of the war.”

Charlie bites his lip and looks away. He takes a deep breath and when he refocuses on Harry, his eyes are rimmed with red. “Harry, taking care of my family is an obligation. Which I’m fine with, mind you. And I know you’ve been like a part of the family for years now, but…” Charlie sniffles, and one of his hands comes to rest on Harry’s cheek, wiping away tears. “Merlin, I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I just…” he trails off again, the words dying on his lips. “I  _ want _ to be there for you. I want you to be a burden to me, if that’s what you feel like. Because I don’t see you as a burden at all. I’ve never once done anything with you that I didn’t want to.” 

Harry’s hands are shaking, and he presses them against his thighs, hoping it can stop him from feeling like a leaf in a windstorm. “But I’m sad all the time and no fun to be around.”

“Bullshit!” Charlie growls, shocking Harry into silence. “Yeah, you’re depressed, Harry. As anyone would be after being through what you have. But under that, you’re funny. You make me smile. You make me feel like the world doesn’t hang on my shoulders when you’re around. Talking to Bill, or George, or Ron, it’s heavy. Like they expect me to fix everything for them. You...you don’t. You want me to listen and be there for you, and you listen to my nonsense rambles when we get off topic. I meant what I said, you know. You’re kind of stuck with me, for now. This is just a rough patch, and I want to see you through to the other side of it.”

Now, it’s Harry that doesn’t know how to answer. Charlie take that as a cue to continue. “And about Percy,” he can see the way the name hurts him like a gut punch, “I guess it just hasn’t really hit me yet. You’re right, I have been keeping myself busy, because I know if I stop I won’t be able to start again, not for a while.” He bites his lip, like he can’t decide if he wants to say anything else. “Actually, coming to your house was something of a relief for me. There was plenty to do, and, well, I got to see you. Talking to you makes me feel lighter. Which doesn’t really make sense, the more I think about it, but I guess that’s what feelings do. I knew the day I got you out of bed that you were going to be important to me, and I haven’t stopped wanting to be around you ever since.”

Harry lets Charlie wipe away the rest of his tears and wraps his arms around Harry’s torso. “Charlie Weasley, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had a bit of a crush.” Harry can’t help but smile; the anxiety swirling in his chest since he left Charlie’s office yesterday has been replaced with something steady and warm. Maybe it’s just the alcohol, but he thinks it just might have more to do with the man watching him like he’s a prize. Not a hero or a saviour or whatever the Prophet’s calling him these days, but something that he wants to keep safe.

Charlie presses his lips to Harry’s forehead, and Harry relaxes into his hold. “You don’t know any better, because it’s true.”

Harry brings up his still-shaking hands and holds Charlie’s in his. “I rather think I can deal with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I've seen a couple of comments about the gift Draco gave Harry and like...soon. We'll find out soon...ish. I promise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feat. a saucy moment between Charlie and Harry
> 
> (note: things will definitely get quite saucy soon)

The next morning during breakfast, Harry receives an owl. He only realizes the address is in Charlie’s handwriting because he saw some papers on the man’s desk last night with the same small, wide scrawl. Harry glances up to the Head Table, where Charlie is conspicuously absent. Bill isn’t, though, and he gives Harry a wink before returning his attention to his plate. Harry makes a note to talk to Bill soon and find out exactly what  _ he _ thinks is going on.

He looks across the table to his best friends. Ron is so focused on his breakfast that he hasn’t even looked at his own letter, some slim brown envelope addressed from his mother. Hermoine, like most mornings, unfolds her new Daily Prophet and disappears behind the gray papers buzzing with pictures. Deciding he’s safe for the moment, he presses his finger under the seal and opens it.

_ Harry, _

_ I had promised myself I would talk with you about something last night, and I put it off again, like I’ve been doing every night for the past two weeks. I finally realized that I am never going to get the courage to do this face-to-face. I hope a letter will do. _

_ I’d like to take you on a date, perhaps this Saturday? There’s a dragon reserve in Wales I’m meant to go survey, and I think you would really like it. It’s quiet and out of the way, and the dragons are fantastic, of course. If you’re up for it, we can get dinner, too. _

_ Yours, _

_ Charlie _

Harry can’t help his grin as he finishes reading. He’s never been asked on a date before--well, never been asked on one he’d wanted to accept. And Harry knows Charlie; he feels like the “yours” isn’t something the man would write haphazardly.

“What is it?” Ron asks over a mouthful of eggs. Hearing Ron, Hermoine pulls down her paper, her eyes peering over the top. They squeeze hands under the table; the couple can count on one hand the times they’ve seen Harry look genuinely happy since they got back from being on the run.

The unfamiliar owl snaps at his shoulder and holds its leg out, obviously waiting for an instant reply. “Nothing important. Just a note from George,” Harry panics, trying to think of the most inconspicuous person he can. He doesn’t see the look the couple across from him shares, Hermoine’s raised eyebrows to Ron’s shrug of helplessness. Harry waves the bird away from his head and folds the bottom of the letter, tearing off a small strip. He refuses to let Charlie have the whole letter back.

_ Charlie, _

_ This sounds like a wonderful day. As much as I’d like to, I will be spending my Saturday at Hogwarts going over a potions project with Ron and Slughorn. It’s no day with dragons, but may I suggest lunch or dinner on Sunday? _

_ -Harry _

Harry ties the parchment to the owl’s legs and hands it a bite of toast before it takes off, flying out the window in the direction of what Harry is sure is Gryffindor Hall.

Some Gryffindor Charlie is.

Charlie’s chambers smell like warm fruit and cinnamon when Harry comes in. “Charlie?” Harry calls. He’d wandered in from Charlie’s office, the smell wafting through the barely cracked door.

Charlie peeks out from the kitchen with a knife in his right hand. He smiles. “You’re earlier than I thought you’d be.”

Harry shrugs. “I finished my homework early and Hermoine and Ron are being an annoying couple.”

Charlie snickers. “When aren’t they?”

He had a point, although they definitely had moments that were much cornier than the rest. Tonight was one of those times. “What’re you up to?”

Charlie waves him over, and Harry enters the kitchen, the smell intensifying times ten as he rounds the corner. “Would you like some mulled wine?” he asks, lifting the lid off the tall pot on his stove. “I’m making a batch for the staff meeting tomorrow, but I need someone to do a taste test.”

Now, Harry’s close enough to smell the cloves, the alcohol. It’s both dizzying and cozy, and Harry can’t say yes fast enough.

Charlie retrieves a mug from his cabinet and ladles it full of the deep red drink. “It might need another hour or so to sit before it tastes right.”

Harry disagrees. He wonders where this drink has been his entire life. “It’s perfect,” he moans, holding the mug out to Charlie. “Taste for yourself?”

Charlie takes a sip and grows a satisfied smile. He reaches back to his cabinet and fishes out another mug. “You’re right, I’ve outdone myself. I have half a mind to drink it all now.”

Harry laughs, nodding in agreement. “Surely they won’t miss a few mugs full,” he muses.

When they’re feeling pleasantly warm and sated, Charlie uncovers the pot and leaves it out to cool and they make their way to the couch. “I wish we could have TVs here,” Harry says absently. It’s been a while since he’s seen one of the muggle devices, and only now that he’s thinking of them does he realize how much he misses sneaking in episodes of the news and whatever else his aunt and uncle didn’t want him to see.

Charlie nods. “They had a few in the main rooms at the reserve. Movie night was always a big hit and there were people fighting over shows to watch all the time. I suppose I can see the appeal of having one of your own.” He stretches, reaching his arms over the back of the couch and arching his back. “Right now, I might just fall asleep, though.”

“Mhm,” Harry replies, doing his own stretches, accidentally jostling Charlie as he does so.

Once they’re both comfortable, they sit facing one another on the couch, legs crossed and heads resting on the back on the couch. “So, this weekend,” Charlie starts.

Harry lets his eyes drift shut as he nods. “Yes?”

“I, um, talked to the head of the reserve,” Harry looks up at him and can just barely see the beginnings of a pink tint high on his cheeks. “And he saw no problem with me coming on Sunday rather than Saturday.”

Harry feels his eyes go wide. “When did you even get the chance to talk to them about that?”

“I floo called them at lunch,” Charlie shrugs, trying to play it off.

Harry rolls his eyes playfully and leans forward. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says, voice quieter than before.

The blush on Charlie’s face moves further down his cheeks. He’s never seen Charlie look this off-kilter, and Harry can’t say he doesn’t like the look of it, the feeling of knowing it’s his fault for flustering him. “I-I know. I just think you’ll have a great time away from Hogwarts.” 

“With you,” Harry states, looking at him pointedly.

Charlie tries to look confident, but Harry can see the awe in his eyes, the heady surprise of knowing that the person he wants wants him too. “Do you, um,” Charlie starts and stops, takes a deep breath, and starts again. “Do you remember the other day when Bill nearly walked in on us?”

How could he forget? “Yeah, why?”

Charlie leans forward just like Harry has. Their faces are inches apart. “Well, I’m not expecting anyone for the rest of the night, and if I don’t kiss you right now there’s a very real chance that I’ll--” 

Harry can’t even wait for him to finish speaking; the clear consent has him rushing forward, wanting to feel those firm, rough lips again. Last time, there was hardly the chance to understand what was happening before it was over, let alone feel much of anything past the obvious. Now, his lips were sliding against Charlie’s, heavy and craving. His hands find purchase on Charlie’s shoulders as Charlie’s hands find Harry’s hips, pulling them together.

Harry pulls back for a second, wanting to remember this moment in detail. Charlie’s eyes are hooded, watching Harry with interest. This close, Harry could count the freckles on Charlie’s nose, but there will be time for that later. And those lips. He can barely take them in, slightly parted and shiny with saliva before diving back in, hands tangling in Charlie’s hair.

Charlie moans so softly that Harry almost doesn’t hear it. His breath catches and he grabs Charlie’s hair more firmly, pressing his body closer, chest against chest. Charlie sucks Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth, tasting it with his tongue. Then, Harry sighs and pushes his tongue forward, testing it against Charlie’s, which pushes its way into Harry’s mouth. Harry welcomes the intrusion, uses his hair-hold to keep Charlie close. The more Harry plays with his hair, the harder Charlie seems to breathe, so he keeps it up as Charlie darts in and out of his mouth, allowing Harry to do the same to him.

Charlie breaks their lips apart and Harry pants as he kisses his way down Harry’s jaw, resting at the skin just below his ear. Charlie’s teeth graze across the skin there and the suction makes Harry gasp. He feels Charlie smile against his throat and then begin moving, kissing and grazing and sucking every part of Harry’s neck he can reach. He seems to enjoy mapping out the best places on Harry’s neck, slow and studious.

Harry moans, and at the same time, Charlie leans back and pulls Harry down with him so they’re horizontal on the couch.

The movement shifts Harry’s perspective, and he tenses. Harry pulls back again and rests his forehead against Charlie’s. One of Charlie’s hands moves from Harry’s waist and to his cheek. “Okay?” Charlie asks.

Harry nods against his skin. “Definitely.” Truthfully, he is a bit overwhelmed, but in the best possible way. He’s never experienced anything like this; even with Ginny, there’d hardly been time to sneak a proper snog, between DA and Quidditch and school and Ginny’s family. He comes to the sudden realization that now, no one can stop them but themselves, and that power is a weight he can’t wait to get used to carrying. However, he knows that it won’t happen overnight. He holds Charlie close as their breathing slows, feeling their heart rates drop in tandem. Charlie kisses his face a few times, runs breath over his neck at the newly sensitive parts. Harry thinks for a second that maybe he should move off of Charlie, but then he settles his hands at the small of Harry’s back, and the thought goes out the window. 

It’s finally Friday, and there are twenty minutes left in Defense before the first weekend back at Hogwarts begins. Bill rattles away at the front of the room, writing notes across the board and ignoring the growing whispers like a pro. Harry imagines he remembers what this feels like, the countdown to the two-day reprieve full of sleep and food and fun, and he’s decided to give mercy on their drowsy eyes planning weekend get-togethers. Even Hermoine doesn’t seem too interested in what Bill’s saying, mindlessly copying down her notes while whispering to Ron and Harry about their plans. “I guess we’ll have to go to Hogsmeade on Sunday, then,” she huffs, giving the boys a glare.

“Of course we will,” Ron whispers back. “And it shouldn’t take too long for us to re-do the potion; there will still be plenty of time Saturday night to hang out.”

“I guess,” she grumbles. “If you two are busy it will give me time to work on the Transfiguration paper and rewrite my Arithmancy notes.”

“That’s the spirit,” Harry says. “And I don’t think I can go to Hogsmeade this weekend.”

Ron looks at him with alarm. “Don’t tell me you got another detention already.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “No, Charlie’s taking me to the dragon reserve in Wales on Sunday.”

Ron’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, and behind him, Hermoine’s eyes glow with understanding. He hopes his blush isn’t too deep to give anything away to Ron. “Charlie’s never asked me to go with him anywhere cool,” he pouts.

“I asked him.” Harry lies. “He mentioned something about it the other day and I asked him to come along.”

Around them, students are beginning to pack up. Even Hermoine is stuffing her parchment and quill into her bag. How Harry and Ron missed Bill dismissing class, he can’t even begin to understand. “Still.” Ron pouts, grumbling something about “some brother he is” and throwing his bag over his shoulder.

Hermoine and Ron are headed for the door when Harry stops them. “I’ll, er, catch up with you in a second. I wanted to ask Bill about something in the reading.” Ron nods and leaves, not being able to get away from school fast enough. Hermoine gives him an odd, penetrating look, but eventually nods and follows Ron.

“Somehow, Harry, I doubt any of the reading I’ve assign has given you questions yet.” Bill says from his desk, a wolfish grin on his face.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “What did Charlie tell you?”

Bill shrugs, waves him over to come stand at his desk. “What should he have told me?” Bill questions. His teacher voice is eerily similar to his brother’s.

Harry glares at him. “That’s his business. I don’t know how much he shares with you, but I think given that it’s probably about me, I have the right to know.”

Bill sobers, seeing how serious Harry is. “Calm down, mate.” he says awkwardly. “No matter what he tells me about you two, you don’t have to worry. I’m not trying to tell anyone, you know?”

Harry swallows and stands up straighter. “Tell anyone  _ what _ ?”

Bill raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Charlie asked me if I thought it was weird for him to ask you to accompany him to the reserve. I told him it was only weird if he made it weird. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so embarrassed, not since we were kids.” Bill smiles at the memory. “Also, Charlie’s shite at lying if you know what to look for. He broke down the second I started prying.”

“Good to know,” Harry says, then looks to his feet. Harry can’t think of anyone better than Bill to answer some of his questions, the ones that he worries about asking Charlie. “Bill, when did you find out he likes men?”

Bill raises an eyebrow. “Won’t he tell you?”

Harry shrugs. “There was never really a good time to bring it up.”

Bill sighs, but answers. “Hmm, I think he was twenty-one. So about six years ago, then. Charlie was visiting and Mum and Dad were gone overnight somewhere, maybe an Order meeting? He had a bloke over and Fred and George caught him and told the whole house. They still take the piss on him sometimes. Don’t think Mum or Dad know, though. Not even the twins would try and touch that.”

Harry nods. “And no one cares?”

Bill looks to his desk. “Ginny was weird about it for a long time, but a couple of years ago something changed and now they’re closer than they ever were.” Harry tries not to think of the implications of that; surely Charlie wouldn’t want to tell his sister that he was into her ex, right? “George too, but we think he was just scarred more than anything. He got over it in a couple of weeks.”

Well, that’s certainly a relief. He already knows Hermoine won’t care. Maybe coming out wouldn’t be a bad thing. Especially if, sometime down the road, him and Charlie decided to come out together. Ron might have a coronary if he has to take that much in at once. Not to mention he would be livid that Harry didn’t tell him he thought he was bisexual, knowing Ron would be okay with it. “Good to know.” he repeats.

Bill nods. “I assume that means you haven’t spoken to anyone else about this?”

“No, but I think Hermoine might be onto me,” Harry says honestly. Bill has always been easy to talk to, like the older brother he used to imagine having. 

Bill smiles. “She usually is, so you’re probably right about that one.”

And somehow, like she knew he mentioned her, Hermione is waiting outside the classroom alone after he wraps up his talk with Bill. When she sees him, she gives him her stern, “we need to talk” look, and his blood runs cold. “Where’s Ron?” Harry asks. 

She shrugs noncommitally. “Dean and him started talking Quidditch and I told him I would wait for you and catch up with them later. Fancy a walk by the lake?” She begins walking before Harry can answer, giving him no choice but to follow. 

It’s sunny outside for once and strangely warm. Harry imagines that when the younger years finish their lessons, the lawn will be full of students sunbathing and playing games. As it is now, Harry can see a few people walking in the distance, but they’re too far away for him to see who they are. The lake looks deserted, for the time being. “Is everything alright?” she asks as soon as they’re out of the castle, away from echoing halls and prying ears. 

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” Harry shoots back. He really should know better by this time.

She starts listing, counting on her fingers. “You’re avoiding Ron and I whenever you can get away with it--don’t try to fight it, because even he’s noticed--and you’re spending even more time with Charlie than you did this summer. You’re ahead on your homework, which suggests to me that you haven’t been sleeping. You’ve been having nightmares again, haven’t you?” She says everything so matter-of-fact, and Harry can’t help but feel like a failure with everything laid out in front of him. Is he really this transparent?

They walk in a stewing silence until they reach the lake. “What do you want me to say?” Harry asks, kicking mud into the lake. “You seem to already have a lot of proof that I’m not doing alright.”

“It would be nice of you to tell me.” Hermoine grabs his hand and makes him look at her. “We care about you, Harry. I care about you, and I’ve hated watching you close yourself off this summer. I didn’t know what to do; after Ron and I returned from Australia, it was like you were a different person, and that you didn’t care if we were in your life or not. I thought things were getting a bit better after you moved into the Burrow, but since we’ve been back at school…” Hermoine is surprisingly the first to break eye contact, looking at their shoes. “I miss you.”

Seeing the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes feels like a kick in the face. Deep down, he’d kind of known what he was doing, but he’s never been confronted about it like this before. He pulls her into a hug so she can’t see the helplessness he thinks must be written across his face. He wants to fix this immediately, but there are some things he just doesn’t know how to talk to her about. “I miss you too.” he says into her shoulder. “I’m sorry I’ve been a shite friend lately. I’ll do better.”

Hermoine pulls back, frowning. “I don’t want you to ‘do better,’ Harry. I just want you to let us be there for you, past Ron waking you up from nightmares and us making sure you eat.” She fidgets with her hands, like she’s not sure what to say next. “Since you were eleven, for as long as I’ve known you, all you’ve been worried about is saving the world and taking care of everyone around you. Even when you knew you were going to die, you kept it from everyone because you didn’t want to be talked out of it. So forgive me for thinking it’s high time for us to start taking care of you.”

Harry’s insides twist, and he thinks back to Charlie asking to take care of him. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he let them help hold himself up every once in a while. “I don’t think that’s in my nature,” he tries.

“Well, one thing you’ve taught me is that you can adapt to anything. So get used to it, because I don’t want to go anywhere.” She grabs his hand and they begin to walk again, pacing along the edge of the lake. Every few seconds, the tip of a tentacle dips into the sunlight, and Harry feels like he’s home. “And for the record, I don’t think anyone would think any less of you for finding a man that makes you happy.” she slips in.

Harry’s face warms, and he turns his face away from her so she can’t see the smile fighting to break free. “Or woman. I’m kind of...in between, I think.”

He sees Hermoine nod out of the corner of his eye. “Right. Or woman. And if anyone does try to say anything, I know a couple of hexes that might make them...reconsider.” Her lips hint at a smile, and in that moment he’s so grateful for his friend that he can’t help but hug her again.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?” Harry says, squeezing her close.

She laughs, light and breezy. “Of course I know. How could I forget with you around?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay expect another update in a day or two I'm sorry for not uploading these faster!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: drunk kids and (consensual) sexual content ahead! From this point forward there will be a fair bit of smut going on because like I said, this is shameless self-indulgence and it's been forever since I had the chance to write it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Ron and Harry are the first eighth-years at dinner after finishing their potion, watching as everyone else filters in, hair windblown and smiles indulgent. “Mate, you owe me so bad,” Ron sighs as Hermoine enters the hall, her and Ginny on either side of Neville, laughing and tipsy.

“Evening lads,” Neville says, the couple sitting across from them as Hermoine comes over to join her boyfriend.

“Neville, Ginny,” Harry greets, tucking into his Shepherd's Pie.

“Oh Ron, Harry, you have to join us next weekend at the pub.” Hermoine starts, grabbing herself a plate. “Rosmerta was actually looking for you, Harry, wanted to serve you a few rounds on the house.”

“Well if Harry can actually focus on potions this week, we’ll be sure to come.” Ron teases.

“Oi, Potter, Weasley!” Seamus yells as soon as he’s in the hall. He runs to them as soon as he sees them and squeezes himself between them. Dean and Blaise Zabini follow him much more calmly, watching in amusement. Seamus throws his arms around their shoulders, and Harry looks to Ron to see if he can smell the vodka as strongly as Harry can. “Rager tonight in the common room. You in?”

Harry looks down the Gryffindor table. No one seems to be looking at them, but there are more than a few students shaking their heads or laughing to their plates. At the head table, the professors eye one another warily. McGonagall and Filch are the only ones not trying to hide how blatantly they’re watching. Ron is looking to Hermoine and trying not to laugh, so Harry sighs and pats Seamus on the knee. “Sure, mate, but keep it on the down low, yeah? Don’t want the younger years showing up or worse:” he leans in closely, “Filch.”

Seamus’s eyes go wide, and he mimes locking his mouth shut. “Of course. Hand me your cup.” Harry looks to Ginny and Neville for help, and in that second, Seamus snatches Harry’s pumpkin juice and pulls a flask out of his pocket. “You too, Ron. You need to catch up with the rest of us.”

“Seamus!” Hermoine hisses. “You can’t  _ do _ that in here!”

“Says who?” Seamus snorts. He pours the clear, pungent liquid into Harry’s half-full cup until it’s almost overflowing. The drink spills down the sides as Seamus hands it back, and Harry takes a big swig of it before setting it down. He tries not to choke, which only makes everyone around him laugh more.

“Says McGongall!” Hermoine cries as Seamus grabs for Ron’s cup. Ron reacts in much the same way as Harry, and the group only gets rowdier.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Seamus slurs, pouring the rest of the flask into his own cup and drinking it straight.

Ron, Harry, Hermoine, and Neville manage to keep most of the group from being too loud, but as more eighth years from other houses crowd themselves around Gryffindor table, there’s not much they can do to divert attention. By dessert, nearly everyone has agreed to take the night off and combine their alcohol stashes to celebrate surviving their first week of classes.

No one seems to notice the professor approaching them until it’s too late. “I do hope you all had a nice day out, and that you’ll remember this evening that Hogwarts is a place of learning and not partying,” McGonagall says from behind Seamus. The whole group freezes, Seamus included, and looks up to the Headmistress with half-sober apologies blending together as everyone tries to speak. She holds her hand up and everyone quiets. “That being said, I do hope that, as eighth-year students, you have enough sense to cast silencing charms should things become too rowdy and clean up after yourselves. Also, should I find out that  _ any _ underage students,” McGonagall looks directly at Ginny, “find their way into your common room, I would have no reservations about giving the entire dormitory daily detention for a month.” The group nods in tandem, and McGonagall allows her stern look to melt into a small, still threatening smile. “Finally, should things  _ truly  _ get out of hand, go to Madame Pomfrey immediately. The last thing we need is another death on this campus, especially for something as ridiculous as an overglorified frat party.” With that sobering image, McGonagall breezes past them and out of the Great Hall.

Everyone is quiet for a moment. Of course, it’s Seamus who breaks the silence. “Did McGonagall really just give us permission to throw a party?” His face is in absolute awe.

“I guess she realized that some of us are incorrigible, and like she said, it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Hermoine says in shock.

“I think I might be in love with that woman,” Seamus says, and Dean slaps him over the back of his head.

“Sorry, Gin,” Neville throws his arms around his pouting girlfriend. “Guess we’ll just have to go to Gryffindor, then.”

At that, Ginny gives him a little smile and kisses his cheek. “No, it’s okay. Maybe I’ll see what Luna is up to.” The mention of Luna forces Harry’s eyes to the Ravenclaw table. He sees her right away, surrounded by a group of girls from all four houses. She almost appears to be holding a meeting of some sort. Seeing her with friends makes him feel slightly less bad about not making time to see her since they returned. “I’ll bring you a hangover potion in the morning, and I’ll be disappointed if you don’t need it.” Ginny stands and gives him another kiss before waving goodnight to everyone and joining Luna’s group.

Neville eyes Harry’s half-full cup warily. Harry smirks and slides it across the table. He, Ron, and Seamus cheer loudly as Neville picks up the glass and downs it.

Two hours after returning to the common room, Hermoine declares Harry one-hundred percent plastered. It’s her fault, honestly; upon finishing dinner, she’d volunteered Harry and herself to be in charge of setting up the silencing charms. Knowing their magics were among the strongest and that they were probably some of the more sober students, he’d agreed. It was easy for them to fall back into the practice up putting up the charms, too easy, Harry thinks. It’s like they’re back in the woods all over again and at that thought, Harry downs three shots in a row.

“Really, Harry, wait a little bit before you take another one.” She says, grabbing the shot glass Harry’s been carrying around since Blaise put it in his hand upon entering the common room. Now, someone’s just filled it with tequila, and Hermoine’s taken it away from him.

“‘Moine,” he groans, reaching out for it. Without hesitation, Hermoine puts it to her own lips and downs it, grimacing. “How come you get’ta drink?” Harry pouts.

“Because I haven’t done twelve shots in the last two hours.” She says sternly. And honestly, how does she know Harry’s done twelve shots? He lost count himself after four.

He grabs for the sticky glass and this time, Hermoine lets him. “If I leave you alone for two minutes to find Ron, do you think you can manage to not put anything else in your mouth?” Harry giggles at the innuendo, and Hermoine rolls her eyes. “Stay here, please.” she pleads, and disappears between Pavarti Patil and Hannah Abbott.

“Potter!” Malfoy calls, stumbling his way to Harry with half a bottle of tequila. “Ready for another one?” He trips a foot away from Harry and falls into him. Harry, not so steady on his own feet, just barely manages to hold both of them up.

Harry shakes his head and swallows back a hint of nausea. “‘Moine said I shouldn’t,” he despairs.

Malfoy gives a dramatic look around the room, giggles, and leans into Harry’s ear. “Hermoine isn’t here.”

Harry decides himself that he’s plastered when he can’t stop thinking about Draco’s laugh: soft, breathy, and adorable. “You halfta take it with me,” Harry says seriously.

Draco holds the bottle up, and Harry lets himself be served. “Cheers,” he says as soon as he’s done pouring Harry’s shot, holding the bottle up to his mouth and taking a big swig.

Harry rushes to catch up and chokes, making Draco laugh again. “So eager,” he practically purrs. “I like that.”

Harry raises his eyebrows and lets Draco continue leaning against him. It’s nice, the way Draco feels against his chest. When did he go from using Malfoy to Draco, anyways? That’s nice too; the sound of the name feels smooth on Harry’s tongue. Malfoy just seems so...oddly formal, jagged and distant.

“Harry!” Ron yells from somewhere behind him. Draco moves away instantly and takes another pull from the bottle. This leaves room for Ron to appear right in between them, throwing his arms around both their shoulders like they’ve been mates for years. “Hi, Malfoy,” he adds as an afterthought. Draco gives him an odd look, but surprisingly doesn’t pull away. 

“Where’s ‘Moine?” Harry scans the area around them and doesn’t see her. “She’s lookin’ for you, mate.”

“I’m right here!” Suddenly, Hermoine is in front of the three of them, watching in exasperation.

Harry doesn’t get a chance to respond before Ron releases Malfoy and uses his newly freed arm to bring Harry into a hug. “You know you’re my best mate, Harry, right?” Ron asks in a low, serious voice. “My bestest mate in the whole world.” Ron gives him a lazy, intoxicated grin, and Harry can’t help but laugh.

“‘Course I do. You’re mine too.” Harry replies, patting the drunkard on his shoulder.

Ron’s grin grows. “I just want’cha to be happy again. And I know you will be soon but I hate waiting for it.”

Harry looks to Hermoine, who shrugs, and then to Draco, who watches Ron with interest. “What makes you say that?”

Ron shrugs. “I just see it.” Ron looks at him, so intensely earnest, and Harry is entirely too drunk to even begin thinking about what Ron’s trying to say. So he brushes it off.

“Alright, Trelawney,” Harry chuckles.

Ron pulls away from him pouting. “Hermoine,” he whines, stumbling from Harry’s arms to hers. “Harry’s so mean, let’s go.”

Now, Hermoine laughs. “Hang on, just a second.” Hermoine looks at Harry, then over to Draco, and narrows her eyes. “Malfoy, stop feeding Harry alcohol. He looks about ten seconds from passing out.”

“So what?” says Draco, looking at his nails. Then, he looks up, and his eyes lock straight on Harry’s. “If he is, I’ll take him to bed.” 

“I don’t need anyone to take me to bed!” Harry protests, ignoring the heat rush to his face.

“Right,” Draco rolls his eyes, pointedly looking away. “Well, this has been pleasant,” he continues before turning abruptly and heading in the direction of the bedrooms.

Hermoine rolls her eyes and her attention turns back to Ron, who’s tugging her towards where a group of Gryffindors have gathered and appear to be setting up some kind of game. Harry looks back to the boys’ hallway just in time to see Draco look back before disappearing. Deep in his gut somewhere, Harry knows Draco’s waiting for him to follow.

“Harry?” Hermoine calls. “Truth or Dare?” She gestures to the circle in front of her, where Ron’s already joined and is moving over to make room for her.

Harry frowns, and makes an impulse decision. “I think I might head to bed,” he says.

“You alright?” she worries. Even Ron turns back and looks on in confusion.

Harry nods slowly, hoping to avoid distorting his vision anymore than it already is. “Yeah. You might be right; think I’m done for the night.”

Hermoine smiles in approval, and Harry can practically hear the “I told you so” he’s sure is running through her head. “Okay. Sleep well, then.”

Ron waves, and Harry smiles at them until they turn back to the circle. Then, he makes his way towards the hallway, proud of himself for only tripping once.

Draco is sitting at Harry’s desk when he enters, tequila sitting on top of the start of Harry’s Transfiguration essay. “Took you long enough,” he teases.

“What do you want?” Harry asks.

Draco looks at him like he’s trying to tell him, but Harry refuses to let him Slytherin himself out of this. He wants to hear the words, loud and clear.

“Well?” Harry says, leaning against the door and crossing his arms over his chest. For the first time in a conversation with the blond, Harry feels like he truly has the upper hand.

Realizing what he wants, Draco huffs. Then, he stands, grabs the bottle by its throat, and approaches Harry. He moves slow enough not to tumble--struts, even, like a cat. He stops when Harry can feel breath on his face, the bottle dangling beside them, resting against the side of their knees.

“I want to do a shot off of you.” Draco says boldly, and fuck if it doesn’t make Harry’s heart beat faster. “You’ll have to lay down and take off your shirt.” He tries to appear unbothered by what he’s saying, but when his eyes flicker between his bed and Harry, Harry realizes how much Draco wants it.

Without a word, Harry slides off his shirt. The fabric brushes across Draco’s face because he’s so close, but when he stumbles back, Harry grabs him and drags him along to Draco’s bed.

Draco shoots a simple locking charm at the door. It’s not enough to keep someone out; just enough to buy them time to not get walked in on. Then, he summons a towel and covers his blankets. Harry waits patiently at the edge of the bed until Draco finishes setting things up and looks at him expectantly. “Lie down, Potter.” Draco commands, voice tight.

A shiver rolls down Harry’s spine; for as much as he’s been using Draco’s first name, he didn’t think he’d be this affected by hearing him call Harry what he’s always called him. But something about it, something about using Harry’s surname sounds unbelievably hot to him.

Once Harry’s positioned, Draco straddles him. With one hand, he holds Harry down on his chest. With the other, he grabs the tequila and tips it over Harry’s abdomen. Harry barely feels the liquid dribble into his belly button, only really notices when Draco moves his hand to steady himself against Harry’s shoulder and rises the bottle up towards his chest, where it begins running down his sides. Draco stops when he reaches Harry’s pectorals, but the tequila rolls further up with every panting breath until it pools at the base of Harry’s neck.

“Don’t move,” Draco whispers, setting the bottle off to the side while trying to jostle the bed as little as possible. He takes a second to admire the way the liquid glimmers in the moonlight, Harry’s heated, focused eyes trained on his every move. Then, Draco lowers his head slowly reaches his lips to Harry’s stomach.

Harry can’t help but laugh when Draco slurps the drink from his navel and dips his tongue into the crevice. It tickles. With his movement, more tequila rolls off his sides, and Draco growls. “Stay. Still.” he mutters into Harry’s skin. Harry watches him drag his tongue out of the hole and across his abdomen, and suddenly the situation is a lot less funny and a lot more erotic.

“Oh, wow,” Harry is vaguely aware of the sounds leaving his mouth, but he’s much more focused on mapping Draco’s tongue’s every move, both physically and visually. He forces his hips to stay in place and simultaneously hopes that this shot never ends and that it will end immediately.

Draco hums against Harry’s skin and flexes his thighs on either side of Harry’s. Harry gasps and pushes his head back and oh Merlin, he’s been trying to fight it but he’s getting hard and as soon as Draco’s tongue slides between his pecs, he knows there’s no going back. Harry’s hands, previously lead at his sides, are moving now, reaching for the belt loops of Draco’s trousers just for something to grab onto. “Hmm, you like it when I touch you here?” Draco nips at the same area and Harry’s arms tense, pulling Draco’s hips closer to his own.

Draco’s hands find Harry’s hair as his mouth quickly slides up to Harry’s neck and sucks away the last of the tequila. Then, he keeps sucking, teeth worrying the hollow of his neck until it’s red when he pulls away. “And here?” he asks before kissing the spot.

“Yes,” Harry breathes out.

“Good.” Draco sounds smug, almost like he knew this would happen. “Then I’m sure you’ll like this,” and then he drops his hips so they’re flush against Harry’s and Harry can’t help it, he’s moaning so loudly and then Draco’s mouth is on top of his. Harry isn’t sure if Draco had meant to kiss him or was just trying to keep him quiet; either way, he’s in no position to complain. Their tongues meet at the same time Draco goes to unbutton his own shirt.

As soon as Draco’s chest is bare, Harry can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even let Draco fully remove his shirt before he rolls them over and presses his weight into the man, using his new leverage to shuffle around and make himself more comfortable. The two moan at the same time when their clothed erections slide against one another, and now Harry’s kissing him, really kissing him with biting lips and sucking tongues and Draco’s kissing back just as hard.

Harry’s never felt anything like this before, and for just a second, Hary wonders if sober him will regret this moment. Drunk him decides that he’s waited entirely too long to get laid and god damn it, he’s saved the world twice. He deserves this...this pleasure.

“Draco,” Harry pulls his head back and gasps as the man ruts up, dragging friction across his cock in the best possible way. “Fuck,” he moans as Draco does it again, hands grabbing Harry’s arse so he has no choice but to stay there and take it. Harry doesn’t need the encouragement, though, as he grinds back down on Draco and refuses to let up until Draco connects their lips again.

“Yeah, Harry,” Draco groans, pushing against the pleasure and biting Harry’s bottom lip to keep from moaning too loud. “Keep doing that.”

Faster than he’s felt it coming since he was fifteen, Harry realizes he won’t last much longer. His face heats up and his pulls away from Draco to get his attention. “I-I’ve never,” Harry tries, then buries his head into Draco’s neck, shaking and grabbing onto the sides of Draco’s button-down. “Fuck, I’m gonna.  _ Draco _ ,” he starts again, rutting faster against him, unbalanced and with abandon.

“Okay,” is all Draco says before pushing Harry over and resuming his position on top. “Do it.”

One of Draco’s hands trail down Harry’s ribcage. Harry can only start wondering what comes next before the hand is at his front, resting over the bulge in his pants. Draco squeezes him, and he loses it. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!” Harry cries out as he comes, thrusting up into Draco’s hands. He can’t control his body trembling as Draco works him through the comedown, moving lightly against Harry’s thigh and sucking another hickey into his neck. “God, Draco.” Harry pants out, body finally calming, and Draco pulls back, laying down on Harry’s side. “Can I?” Harry asks when he rolls onto his side, seeing the tightness still in Draco’s trousers.

Draco nods quickly. “ _ Please _ .”

Harry uses his hand to assume the same position Draco had made him come in, cupping his hand over the erection and squeezing. Draco shudders. “Do that again.”

Harry does, this time moving up and down Draco’s cock at the same time. Draco grabs his bicep and squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck, Harry,” he pants. “You look so hot when you come.”

“Good,” Harry kisses him lightly, enjoying the whimpers trying to escape past his lips. 

He works his hand faster, and Draco thrusts up to him with the same tempo. “Gonna come,” he says after not too long.

With his free hand, Harry undoes Draco’s belt. He wants to see the man lose it in the same uncontrollable way Harry did, so as soon as he gets Draco’s fly undone, he jams his hand under them and grabs Draco through his pants.

Harry’s hand grows warm and sticky and Draco keens, a high, unbroken moan into Harry’s mouth that makes Harry shiver through an aftershock. He doesn’t move his hand until Draco moves it for him. “You’re pretty good at that, for a newbie.” Draco smiles, untethered.

Harry grins. “I don’t have much for comparison, but I’d say you’re the best.”

Draco laughs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter me, Potter.”

The room is quiet for a few minutes, long enough for the post-orgasm drowsiness to fog over his eyes. “Can I stay here?” Harry mumbles eventually against Malfoy’s chest. He’s Malfoy again now, Harry thinks. Maybe he’s just starting to sober up.

Malfoy sighs. “Your bed is literally ten feet away.”

“But you’re closer to the bathroom,” he tries. He knows he’s going to vomit tomorrow like he knows Ron’s going to flip when he sees them in bed together. But he’s still not sober enough to care.

“I don’t know why you think that would encourage me to let you stay.” Malfoy scoffs, but his hand moves to Harry’s back and rubs across it lightly.

“Because you love me,” Harry says.

The smooth rise and fall of Draco’s chest under him pauses for a second. “You wish. Go to sleep, Harry.”

“Here?” Harry grins. Success.

“Wherever, Potter. Just don’t wake me up at an ungodly hour or puke on my bed.”

“No promises,” Harry grumbles, falling asleep before Malfoy can get in another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lowkey seamus is the best character to write because he's just pure chaotic irish energy


	7. Chapter 7

There is not a single cell in Harry’s body that doesn’t feel like rubbish when Ron shakes him awake the next morning. “Harry, you have to wake up. Charlie’s waiting outside the common room and your portkey leaves in 20 minutes.”

Harry’s eyes spring open and he bolts upright. Ron moves away from him a split second before Harry realizes his mistake and sprints for the toilet, collapsing in front of the bowl just in time.

Once he’s sure he’s expelled most of last night from his body, he turns to see Ron waiting for him with a glare and a hangover potion. Ignoring the glare, he snatches the potion out of his hands and downs it. “Thanks, mate.”

In response, Ron casts a tempus charm. “Now you’ve got 15 minutes, and there’s no way you can go anywhere without a shower.” He snaps. “Get in; I’ll grab you some clothes and your towel.” Ron storms off before Harry can get a word in edgewise, and as Harry achingly moves toward the shower, he thinks back to the snapshot memories of last night, trying to figure out what he did that would put his best mate in such a mood.

It almost feels like a second hangover hits him when he remembers Malfoy, and he heaves over the shower drain as he pulls the curtain shut. The bed he woke up in is much closer to the bathroom than his own, he realizes. Fuck, had Malfoy still been in bed with him when Ron had woken him up, as shirtless and debauched as Harry? Harry remembers the bed feeling slightly warmer than he’s used to, and takes that as his answer. He groans and lets his head fall against the shower wall. He’s made a right mess of his morning and he hasn’t even considered Charlie yet.

_ Oh, Charlie _ . Should he even go on their date anymore? Perhaps he owes it to the man to not flake out at the literal last minute, but would Charlie even want his company if he knew Harry had jumped out of someone else’s bed to go with him? Harry bangs his head against the wall again, and the residual hangover echoes around his skull. What a right wanker he is--he deserves every second of this suffering, he thinks.

“Stop trying to punish yourself in there. You don’t have time,” Ron’s voice is much closer than Harry expects it to be, like he’s just on the other side of the barely opaque shower curtain.

Harry shuts off the stream of water feeling barely cleaner than before and reaches his arm out so Ron can hand him his towel. “Is Malfoy still out there?” Harry asks.

Ron scoffs. “Yeah, the fucker is still out there. Tried to shoot a hex at me for waking the two of you up then spelled his curtains shut so I couldn’t bother him.”

Ron is still in the bathroom when Harry exits the shower, albeit facing away from Harry. His clothes have been left in a pile almost directly in front of his, and he wastes no time in forcing them on over his wet skin. “So,” Harry says softly, summoning his toothbrush. “How mad are you?” he asks before spelling his toothbrush to brush his teeth.

Ron shrugs, but Harry can see the tension in his shoulders. “‘Moine’s telling me I shouldn’t be mad, but she wasn’t the one that walked in on you two all over each other when you’ve never so much as mentioned liking blokes.” Of course Ron walked in on them, despite all of their precautions. 

Well. They were drunk and distracted.

Harry sends his toothbrush back to the sink and slides on the striped shirt Ron must have dug out of the bottom of Harry’s trunk, wrinkled and stale. He casts a cleaning charm over it before he’s satisfied. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I’m still trying to figure it out for myself.”

“By fucking your childhood nemesis?” Ron is shooting daggers into the wall.

“Fuck’s sake, Ron, we didn’t fuck. We just,” Harry blushes. “We just made out a bit.”

“In his bed,” Ron grumbles.

Harry sighs and stares into the mirror, hands gripping the sides of the sink. There are two hickies on the right side of his neck, and as much as he doesn’t want to, he heals them immediately. Some part of him wants a reminder of the night, but a bigger part of him doesn’t want Charlie to see what a slut he is. “We were so pissed, Ron. Hermoine’ll tell you I could barely stand upright if you can’t remember that for yourself.”

Ron sighs, and casts Tempus again. “You should go. We can talk about this later.” he sounds robotic, Harry thinks, as if he’s just trying to get away from the situation as quickly as possible.

“Wait,” Harry says, stopping Rom from leaving the bathroom. Ron looks at him, and anxiety bubbles in his lungs. “I don’t want you to hate me,” he hates how choked up his voice sounds, but it seems to do the trick.

Ron’s face softens. “I don’t hate you. I just wish you’d trust me like you do Hermione or Charlie.”

He lets Ron leave this time, unsure of how to answer him. What could he possibly say to that right now that doesn’t sound like too little, too late?

Harry miraculously makes it out of the dormitory without anyone bothering him. Hermoine smiles supportively when he passes her in the common room, but everyone is right there and as much as he wasn’t ready to come out to his friends, the thought of telling his other classmates is enough to send him hurrying out the door with his eyes trained on the ground.

The way Charlie’s face lights up when he sees Harry makes him feel sicker than his hangover did. “Come on, we’ve got less than five minutes.” Harry just manages to keep up with Charlie’s long strides, thanking the potion every step of the way for keeping his nausea at bay. Charlie doesn’t look at him until they’ve reached his office, but once he’s retrieved an old trainer off his desk, he looks at Harry with a knowing and slightly sympathetic smile. “Good night?”

Harry shrugs. “I guess.” If he thinks about it, it was a great night. But how can he say that to the man that’s been taking care of him for months and has only just found the courage to ask him out?

Of course, Charlie has been practicing reading him for months, and catches on immediately. “What happened?” he asks, and beginning notes the noontime chimes fill the air. “Grab on,” Charlie holds out the trainer and the second Harry touches it, they’ve disappeared from Hogwarts’ grounds.

Harry vomits again when they land in front of a towering, wrought-iron gate. Charlie pushes the hair off his sweaty forehead and has a vial waiting for him when he recovers. “It’ll calm your stomach. Ron mentioned you guys had a long night.”

And then Harry feels it, that sick tugging in his gut that he has to tell Charlie, has to tell him now and accept the consequences before they go any further. “I made out with someone else,” Harry blurts.

Charlie looks at him oddly, like he’s not sure whether to laugh or not. “At the party?” he asks.

Harry nods. “I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you before we left in case you didn’t want me to come anymore but Ron made me get a shower before I left the room and there was no time for me to mention it.”

Charlie hums and nods to himself. “I’ll admit, I definitely didn’t expect that.” he says quietly.

“I’m sorry. Really, I am.” The words sound like bullshit as soon as he speaks them. “I can just wait out here while you go in. I can find something to do and then meet you back here for the portkey if you want.”

“What? No, Harry.” Charlie grabs his arm and holds him there. “I mean, I don’t love that it happened, but it’s not like we’re together.” The ‘yet’ is unspoken, a hesitant pause. “You don’t...you don’t owe me anything.” Charlie shrugs, and it looks like it hurts him. “It’s not like you cheated on me.”

“I didn’t?” Harry’s eyes go wide.

“No. Look, we haven’t even been on our first date yet. We don’t even know if this,” he gestures between them, “will work out. And if there’s anyone that understands casual hookups, it’s me.”

Harry bites his lip. “So...you’re not mad?”

Charlie shrugs again. “Not really. Jealous? Maybe a little. But now I’ve got the whole day to prove to you that I’m better than whoever-the-fuck from last night.” He releases Harry’s arm, but almost immediately grabs his hand, tangling their fingers together. “Now, we have a schedule to keep, and we’re already late. If there’s nothing else?” Charlie holds out the calming potion.

Harry feels the guilt begin to slide off his back. A nagging in his head tells him this shouldn’t be so easy. He should be begging at Charlie’s feet for forgiveness, and Charlie should just send him home while he runs off to lick his wounds. Maybe he’d get back at Harry, go into Hogsmeade and get with some guy leagues ahead of Harry. Someone better suited for Charlie. Someone who deserves him.

He smiles at Charlie without feeling like he’s going to crumble, takes the potion, and follows Charlie to the gate.

“I’m bringing her back to Hogwarts with me. She’ll have to stay in your room, though,” Harry says seriously, petting the snout of the hatchling Welsh Green that had taken to following the pair around as soon as they’d stepped foot in the hatchlings’ enclosure. After taking a look around its perimeter and greeting as many baby Norwegian Ridgebacks and Swedish Short-Snouts as would let him, Harry had found a large, flat boulder on which to sit. The single Welsh Green in the enclosure had approached him seconds later and promptly rested its chain in Harry’s lap, and they haven’t moved since. “Ron might kill me if I gave her our extra bed. I think he uses it for storage.”

Charlie grins and sits next to Harry. The dragon growls, at first, but is placated as soon as Harry’s hand reaches out for Charlie’s and pulls him down next to him. “I wouldn’t doubt that, but I think McGonagall, unlike Dumbledore, has her limits about what she’ll allow on Hogwarts’ grounds.”

Harry nods. He can’t imagine how McGonagall would have reacted as Headmistress if she’d found out about Norbert, or what she would have said when the Ministry suggested bringing dragons to the grounds as part of the TriWizard Tournament. “I hardly think this little lady would do much damage to a castle as sturdy as Hogwarts, would you?” he coos, the dragon nuzzling his hand.

As if to prove him wrong, the dragon takes a step away from the couple and sneezes. Fire singes the grass in front of her and the tips of Charlie’s boots. “I think you have your answer,” Charlie laughs, slapping at his shoes until they stop smouldering. They’re fireproof, Harry learns, as is much of his clothing--a side effect of spending the last decade surrounded by more dragons than humans. “And before you say something like that again, you should see her mother. Then tell me how harmless she seems.”

Harry decides approximately one hour after they arrive in Wales that this day will be one of his top ten for a long time to come. Even though they’re still in the UK, Harry’s never traveled this far away from home, and now, he’s wondering what took him so long. As much as he loves the streets of England and the hills of Scotland, being somewhere entirely different fills him with a kind of peace that he’d long since stopped trying to find for himself. And being here with Charlie makes him feel light, careless. Even if something were to happen, he’s sure that he and Charlie could take it on together. That’s just what they do now.

Despite finding themselves at the most beautiful cliffside Harry’s ever seen, he constantly finds himself looking for Charlie, even though he’s always right there, watching him back. Over the side of the mid-level cliff is an oasis of dragons, more than Harry’s ever seen before. Full grown Chinese Fireballs and Welsh Greens soar in the afternoon light, their wings making translucent shadows over the reserve as they glide through early autumn winds. A group of what Charlie calls Portugese Long-Snouts wade in a shallow, glittering spring and splash among one another. The view takes his breath away, but every time Harry glances over to Charlie, he feels an almost painful clench of his heart. He’s never seen Charlie this happy before, legs dangling over the edge of a heady drop, his hair wind-swept and eyes bright with interest. It’s perhaps one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen--maybe even more so than the hatchlings.

“Do you see that one?” Charlie’s face lights up again, like it has every time he sees a new breed approach the oasis. He squeezes Harry’s hand and points up toward the sun. Out of the light, a dazzling white dragon appears. It swoops toward the ground at an alarming rate, then feints at the last second, driving itself upwards again. “That’s an Antipodean Opaleye, the rarest dragon breed in Europe.” It zooms around the oasis just high enough to avoid running into any dragons on the ground, although plenty of them snap at it or shoot fire when it gets too near. “They’re sort of the Gryffindors of dragons, if you couldn’t tell.” Charlie laughs as another joins it in its teasing, and the dragons on the ground grow rowdier. “They only have those two here; they’re mates and they’ve been living here for longer than any of the others, which is why the others put up with them.” he explains. “As far as I know, they’re the only two in Europe at the moment, although there might be a pair or two in Russia. We had one in Romania for a while, but…” For the first time today, the smile on Charlie’s face disappears. “They can be hard to keep track of, and they’re pretty much a gold mine for poachers. He was a beautiful fellow, though.”

“I’ll bet,” Harry replies, watching the way their opalescent scales change with the light. One second they’re a glowing purple; the next, a blinding white. “Do you know how long they’ve been here?”

Charlie thinks for a moment. “I reckon nearly 500 years now.” Harry’s eyes bulge, and Charlie laughs at him. “Dragons have seriously long life-spans. For as many as you’ll see born as a dragon keeper, you’d be lucky to see more than one or two pass away from old age. Most of the time, though, it’ll be fights or illness that take them out.”

Charlie trails off, leaving them to watch as the Opaleyes make a few more laps before disappearing beyond the horizon again. As soon as they fly out of the oasis, calm is restored, and the dragons go back to lazing in groups and splashing in the water. “Do you think you’ll go back to Romania?” Harry asks after a while.

Charlie sighs and shrugs. “I’d like to, but after everything with the battle, and Percy…” his free hand joins their combined ones, fingers running over Harry’s and warming the back of his hand. “I don’t see myself going back for a long time. Besides,” he beams and leans close. “This Hogwarts gig is pretty sweet, for right now, and much less life-threatening than dragon taming, which keeps Mum off my arse. O’Malley has told me I’m welcome back here any time,” O’Malley is the head of the Welsh Reserve, and may or may not have fallen in love with Charlie after five minutes of conversation. Harry manages well enough when Charlie falls into a rant on the technical side of working with dragons, but O’Malley is fluent in it, and it’s very clear that he hasn’t met someone as educated on the subject as Charlie in a very long time, who is more than happy to share his knowledge. “And there’s a very attractive, very powerful wizard that seems to be a bit sweet on me, if I’m reading him right, and well, I’m only a man.” Charlie winks and Harry lets himself stare, for once.

“Are you trying to boost my ego? Because it’s working,” Harry says. His mouth feels dry, so his tongue darts across his lips to wet them.

Charlie’s eyes flicker down to watch the action, and Harry’s heart pounds. “Who says I’m talking about you?” Charlie tries, like he can’t believe what’s happening.

Harry doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches his free hand up to Charlie’s cheek and guides his lips down to Harry’s. He tries to pull back almost right away, but Charlie isn’t having it, holding him close and savoring the moment until they have to break for air. “I say,” Harry whispers at the same time his stomach groans.

Charlie laughs and kisses him once more before standing and offering Harry and hand. “Shall we head for dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was fun to write. :)
> 
> note: things are gonna start getting really steamy really soon


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...this is pretty much mostly smut. no apologies.

Harry wakes up panting and sweaty, and almost immediately bursts into tears. He’d been so tired from the weekend that his body had been too exhausted to torment him with nightmares. Now, though, it’s Tuesday, and even a mountain of schoolwork has never been enough to keep his terrors at bay.

In the dream, Voldemort had Charlie and Malfoy. They’d been crucio’d within an inch of their lives and Harry was told he could only save one of them. Instinctively, he’d gone for Charlie.

“Don’t, Harry.” Charlie commanded in his teacher voice. “I don’t want your pathetic help.”

So Harry had turned to Malfoy, who sneered at him, wandlessly casting the cruciatus at him. “You think I want to be your sloppy seconds, Potter? Stay away from me.”

The curse seemed to drill right into his heart, holding it with a clawed hand and digging in with its talons. Voldemort was ecstatic as Harry dropped to his knees in front of him. “See, Harry? You really are alone, now.” Voldemort stepped to the side to reveal a pile of bodies, Ron and Hermoine at the top under any person who’d ever paid him a kindness. “What makes you think you deserve to live after you’ve killed all of them?” Like the end of most of his dreams these days, there’s the telltale flash of green light, and then he’s awake, hand gripping his wand so tightly his knuckles are white.

For the first time Harry can remember, Ron has slept through his nightmare, and Harry is alone with the aftereffects. He can hear the soft snores of his best friend, but sleeping still looks too close to death for him to be comfortable. He considers waking him, but then he remembers that Ron’s still a tad mad that he had to find out Harry likes blokes by seeing him ‘sleeping with the enemy,’ as he’d phrased it, and decides it will do him no favors. So, Harry tumbles out of bed, his legs just barely ready to hold him up, and he runs out of the room, through the common room and into the hallway.

“Harry?” Dumbledore’s voice makes him scream. The portrait door shuts and Harry’s face to face with his dead mentor, alone, for the first time.

Harry hides his face under his shirt and tries to wipe away his tears, but they keep coming and there’s no stopping them. “Professor,” Harry’s voice trembles.

“What’s troubling you, my boy?” He asks in that soft, fatherly voice that Harry’s never been able to resist.

Harry shakes his head. “I’m fine, sir.” he tries. As much as he’d like to talk to someone, anyone, Dumbledore is dead and Harry hasn’t forgiven him for raising him like a slaughterhouse pig. He’d had his reasons, Harry’s come to find out, but he can’t convince himself they were good enough to warrant keeping him in the dark for so long. Even Kingsley, the fucking Minister of Magic, had agreed with Harry on that.

“Harry--” Dumbledore tries, and Harry snaps.

“No. I know where you’re going with this, I can see it. I don’t want your apologies or your sympathy.” Harry tries to put some distance between them, stepping backwards, but he only succeeds in falling on his arse. His cheeks flame and he pulls his knees up to his chest. “I just want to stop feeling broken,” Harry says to himself, trying to control his breathing. “And it’s your fault I’m like this in the first place!” Harry hisses.

A twisted sense of pride fills his gut when Dumbledore looks taken aback. Then, his face goes carefully neutral. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I hope you know it was never my intention.”

“But it was what you did.” Harry says. Dumbledore doesn’t answer for a moment, and when Harry wagers a glance toward the portrait, the man is nowhere to be seen. “Fucking coward,” Harry sobs, hugging himself closer.

Thank god it’s Ginny and no one else that finds him sobbing in front of the eighth-year common room at 2 a.m. She’s always been good at knowing when not to press him and if anyone except maybe Charlie asked him what was happening, he might not have been able to stop himself from decking them. “Harry? Should I get someone?” she kneels in front of him. “Ron? Hermoine? McGonagall?”

Harry shakes his head. “Can-Can you just help me up? I think...I think I should go see Charlie.”

Her eyebrows draw together in confusion and smooth out again in the span of a second. “Of course,” she whispers and extends her hands out to him. She pulls his weight up practically single-handedly. It had been easy for him to forget how strong she was. He admires it, wishes he could have that, too.

When, as expected, no one answers Ginny’s knock on Charlie’s office door, she opens the door and lets them both in. She sits Harry in the softest chair in the room, where he pulls his knees back up to his chest and resumes the position he’d been in on the floor. “You’re shivering,” she states, then takes a tissue from the box on Charlie’s desk and transfigures it into a blanket. Harry doesn’t respond as Ginny wraps him in the plush cover, and she bites her lip. She’s never seen Harry this bad before. “Wait right here.” She says before turning on her heel and going to Charlie’s chamber door.

She pounds on the wood for nearly a full minute before Charlie appears on the other side, hair sleep-mussed, clutching his wand and looking fearfully alert. “Ginny?”

Ginny moves aside and pulls Charlie through the doorway. “I found him crying outside his common room and he told me he wanted to come here. I think he was talking to Dumbledore.”

Charlie drops to his knees in front of Harry and carefully pries Harry’s hands away from his face. “Harry? I’m here, you’re alright.” Charlie wraps his arms around the boy and holds him close. “He probably had a nightmare, which talking to Dumbledore didn’t exactly help, I’m guessing.” Charlie explains to Ginny. Harry nods against his chest in confirmation.

“Should I get Madame Pomfrey?” Ginny asks, eyeing Harry warily. “Or McGonagall?”

Harry’s hands grab onto Charlie’s shirt like a vise. “Nah, he’s just having a panic attack, I reckon.” He says calmly, soothingly. “He’ll be alright in a few minutes. Would you mind getting him some water, though?”

Ginny nods and her footsteps disappear into Charlie’s room. “Alright, Harry, deep breaths.” he whispers. “That’s it, mate. You’re okay. It’s not real, whatever you saw. This is real, you and me here, and we’re going to get through this.”

Harry still can’t seem to stop crying, but his breathing does begin to regulate itself and soon he feels like he’s not in fight or flight mode again. “I’m sorry for waking you up,” Harry says.

Charlie snorts, and Harry knows if he looks up he’ll see Charlie rolling his eyes. “Shut up and take care of yourself. It’s my job, and I care about you. I want to be awake when you need me.”

Ginny returns and places a full glass on Charlie’s desk. Harry reaches out for it and Charlie grabs it for him, places it between uneasy hands. “Thanks, Gin.” Harry says before taking a sip.

Ginny gives him an encouraging, but worried, smile. Harry can see the way her eyes flicker between him and Charlie, and his stomach rolls again. “Anytime. I should probably get back to my rounds, though, if I want to sleep tonight.”

Charlie nods, stands, and hugs her. “Thank you,” he murmurs again. Ginny gives them a wave and leaves. “Do you want to talk about it?” Charlie asks when the door shuts behind her, moving back so he’s close to Harry.

The thought of reliving the nightmare makes him want to be sick, so he avoids it. “I might have yelled at Dumbledore.” he admits.

Charlie laughs unexpectedly. “Good. Someone should, and if anyone has the authority to, it’s you.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Charlie extends his hands and helps Harry stand up and leads him into his chambers. “I mean that he was the most powerful wizard in the world. Tiffs with the ministry aside, no one really questioned him, not even the Order. They just assumed he knew best.” They walk past the living area and Charlie leads him down a hallway he’s never been in before. “I have to imagine that kind of power gets to a bloke’s head, no matter how good their intentions.” Charlie turns and takes Harry into a room. He turns on the light and Harry realizes they’re in Charlie’s bedroom. His blankets are half on the floor, but the room is otherwise pretty neat. A single wardrobe, a half-full bookshelf, and a trunk at the end of his bed are the only personal accoutrements Harry can see. “And you, well...you’re probably the most powerful wizard of our time, and the guy had it coming, after everything he put you through. Anyone will agree with that.”

Now, there’s a new fear boiling in Harry’s chest. “Oh, god, do you think I’ll turn into him?” Harry asks, eyes wide.

Charlie hugs him again. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” he promises. “Now, come on, Oh Powerful One, you should get back to sleep.”

Harry thinks he’s joking at first, but when he holds back his blankets for Harry to get in, Harry shakes his head, wiping off a stray tear. “This looks like a bad idea. What if we get caught?”

Charlie shrugs. “We’ll say you fell asleep in my office and slept on my couch. Ginny’ll vouch that you shouldn’t be alone right now, and it’s not like everyone doesn’t already know we’re friends.” He pats the mattress. “Come on, we’ll be okay.”

Harry sighs, but agrees to settle in. As soon as he’s close enough, Charlie puts an arm over him and kisses him softly. “Are you feeling any better?”

Harry nods, but still feels the nervous energy twitching in his limbs. “Kind of. I doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep again so soon.”

Charlie nods and yawns, resting his head against Harry’s. “So talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Whatever you want.”

It feels awkward at first, rambling to Charlie. He talks about quidditch scores and the book on dragons he owl-ordered that’s supposed to come in later this week. Charlie doesn’t offer much in response, dozing in and out of consciousness, but Harry knows he’s listening; his face twitches when Harry says something he’s amused by. Then, he rants about Dumbledore a bit more, now that he has the chance to think back on the conversation. He decides the outburst was part of his panic attack, and that even if he meant the words, he shouldn’t have said them like that, like wedging a shard of glass between his finger and nail. Harry realizes that laying things out like this in front of someone is helpful, that putting everything out there allows him to take it back in in a way that makes more sense. Then, he mentions his dream, and by the time he’s laid all of that out, he’s exhausted. “And then I…” Harry trails off for the third time on the same thought, his eyes drifting shut as the sun begins to brighten Charlie’s room.

“Hey,” Charlie whispers, voice thick with sleep. “It’s okay, we can continue talking about this when you wake up. Sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake.” he murmurs, kissing Harry on the forehead and cuddling him closer.

So Harry sleeps.

The light is eventually what reawakens Harry. Charlie’s head is in the crook of Harry’s neck, breath brushing across the fabric of Harry’s night shirt. Without moving too much, he grabs his wand off the nightstand and casts a Tempus. “Shit, fuck. Charlie!” Harry bolts upright.

Charlie shouts and rolls backwards. He grabs his own wand and sits up, shaking the sleep out of his eyes. “What, what is it?” He groans.

“It’s lunchtime. God, we’re so fucked.” Harry throws his head in his hands, feels the familiar pullings of another attack on the way.

“Woah, woah, Harry!” Charlie smiles, laughing softly. “It’s okay. Everything’s alright. I talked with McGonagall after you fell asleep and gave her a vague rundown of last night. She’s taking over my classes for the day and you’ve been excused, alright?”

Harry looks at him in confusion. “What?” He asks in disbelief.

Charlie nods. “She gave us a free pass this time, but if it happens again, she’d like you to speak with a mind healer.”

Harry shivers at the thought, but allows himself to relax in the feather-soft bed. “Okay.” is all he can think to say.

“Okay.” Charlie grins, stretching out. “Now, come back here. I was quite comfortable.”

Harry rolls his eyes and returns his wand to the table. “Fine, just this once,” Harry jokes, rolling back into strong, warm arms.

Charlie leans in and kisses Harry. “I was hoping I’d be able to wake you up more like this,” Charlie murmurs against his lips. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Harry kisses back hungrily. Now that he’s not worried about being expelled or getting Charlie fired for the moment, his attention returns to the first thing he’d noticed upon waking: his morning wood. He’d thought about going to take a shower to take care of it, but now Charlie was practically on top of him and the soft, sweet kisses he’d started with are growing longer, heavier. Charlie’s tongue dips against Harry’s and Harry’s arms tangle into Charlie’s hair. Charlie breathes heavy when Harry lifts his head, somehow trying to get closer than they already are. The arm Charlie had resting over Harry’s chest moves down, fingers dancing down his abs and over to his side, where they slide under Harry’s shirt and grab at his hip. With Charlie’s encouragement, Harry moves onto his side, realizes Charlie is seconds away from making the new discovery. So, Harry moves closer so they’re pressed together and there’s no missing it. His morning brain doesn’t know the meaning of the word “wait.”

“Oh, hello there,” Charlie smiles against him, wiggles his waist so that Harry can feel the same reaction on him. Harry can’t help but moan softly, his fingers tightening against ginger hair. “Do you want to talk about it? Your nightmare, I mean,” Charlie continues, voice hoarse.

“Not anymore,” Harry says, pulling his hair a little harder just to watch Charlie’s eyes slide closed. “I’d much rather you continue waking me up.”

“Me too,” Charlie concedes and returns to kissing him. 

Harry throws one of his legs over Charlie’s and presses harder against him. Charlie’s body gives way so that Harry rolls half on top of him, giving him the perfect position to rut against Charlie’s thigh. He moves one of his hands to Charlie’s waist, sliding a hand up Charlie’s shirt until he gets the idea and takes it off completely. Even though Harry expected Charlie to be toned, he shivers at the look of him. Both of his arms are almost fully tattooed. A feral green dragon claws its way down Charlie’s left arm, puffing down clouds of smoke and flame across his tricep. His right arm is mostly inked in black, full of words and phrases Harry would take the time to read when he wasn’t so predisposed. “How are you so fit?” Harry pants, pushing himself up off Charlie’s chest. The scar Harry had seen on the first day of Transfiguration runs down the top half of his torso, rigid and fading. He stays straddled on Charlie’s thigh and grinds down on it, throwing his head back and moaning.

“Takes a lot to keep up with dragons and first-years,” Charlie replies, reaching for the waistband of Harry’s sweatpants. “Take your shirt off,” he tugs on the elastic of the trousers as Harry works himself over Charlie’s leg.

Harry throws his shirt somewhere and leans back down to kiss Charlie again. “Fuck me,” Harry moans, using the same trick Malfoy had used on him and reaching to the front of Charlie’s trousers.

Charlie pulls out of the kiss to look Harry in the eyes. “Really,” he says, voice impassive.

Harry moves his attention to Charlie’s collarbone, nipping against the raised skin. “Yeah. Why not?” He kisses down Charlie’s chest and laves his tongue over a nipple. “I trust you, and I want you, and you want me. Don’t you?” Harry asks, reaching into Charlie’s pants. His fingers wrap around the base of Charlie’s cock and drag upward, and Charlie moans loud enough that his voice echoes against the walls. “Don’t you want to fuck me, Charlie?” Harry asks again.

“Fuck. Merlin, yes,” Charlie’s words hiss between his teeth as he rolls his hips against the friction. “But you won’t...you won’t regret it, do you think?”

Harry pulls back Charlie’s pants so that his cock pops out, then spreads Charlie’s legs and settles between them. “No,” Harry says, then licks at the head.

Charlie gasps. “Harry, hell,” he whines as Harry closes his mouth around him and sucks. Trying not to shift in Harry’s way, he reaches into the nightstand on his side of the bed and scuffles around until he finds his bottle of lube.

Harry snorts, watching him, and replaces his mouth with a hand. “Handy,” he teases.

“Shut up and bring your arse here,” Charlie nudges him with his knee, flipping open the cap. Harry obliges and lets Charlie up. “Lay down,” he says softly, guiding Harry to sit in the place he just vacated. The sheets are still warm when Harry’s back lands on them. While he’s up, Charlie removes his bottoms completely, then divulges Harry of his before jumping back onto the mattress. 

Charlie kisses him once and sits back on his haunches. “Have you ever done this before? To yourself, I mean.” He looks Harry in the eyes as he spreads the lube on his fingers.

“Only once or twice. I, er, couldn’t really figure it out for myself. It didn’t really do much for me.” Harry bites his lip. “But I’d still like to try.” He reassures.

Charlie’s oiled fingers against Harry’s arse make him jump. Then, something else washes over him, something cool and refreshing. “Wandless cleaning charm,” Charlie winks, and Harry swoons. Of course he knows how to do that wandlessly. “Now, relax.” Charlie says, leaning for Harry’s lips.

Harry tenses when Charlie’s pointer finger presses against his rim, but he relaxes quickly as Charlie’s tongue demands his attention, thick and hot. The tip of his finger pushes past the muscle and Harry sighs at the pressure. It feels as he expected it to, the same way it had when he’d tried it on himself. The unfamiliar fullness makes him clench against the intrusion, and Charlie bites his lip. Harry sees his erection twitch, and a surge of pleasure makes his body tingle, knowing that it’s all his fault. 

“Do you want another?” Charlie asks before kissing down Harry’s jaw. 

Harry swallows. He’s never tried more than one finger, always panicked before he could get that far and gone back to doing what he was used to. “Okay,” he says, because despite the fear, he wants to make Charlie feel good. Wants to make him cry out and come inside him. He’s tired of being a virgin, of feeling uncomfortable when his mates make sex jokes and he can’t contribute. And Charlie, well. If he’s honest with himself, the part of him that likes to push down intense feelings like this, he’s wanted to see him naked forever. Wanking to thoughts of him is one thing, but seeing him here, feeling him in the flesh, is so overwhelmingly perfect that he wants to do anything he can to make the moment last forever. 

Charlie’s free hand grabs the base of Harry’s cock at the same time his second finger stretches Harry open. “Ahh,” he sighs, unable to stop the sound from leaving his mouth as the pleasure-pain short-circuits his brain. 

“Alright?” Charlie asks, stroking Harry’s length as he adjusts to Charlie’s stilled fingers. Harry nods, and Charlie twists his fingers, holding Harry’s cock even tighter, and Harry forces his face to go neutral and he tries to decide whether he wants to stop or move faster. When pain fades to discomfort, he allows himself to thrust up into Charlie’s fist. The redhead grins, scissors his fingers and Harry thinks maybe things won’t be so bad now. 

When Charlie goes in with three fingers, Harry cries out. “Hang on a second,” he groans, trying his best to not move away from the discomfort. He was wrong about the pain. So, so wrong. He feels kind of like he’s being split in half and he wants to ask Charlie to use more lube but he can’t speak, overwhelmed by the sensation. 

Charlie works his hand on Harry’s cock slowly, just enough to keep him hard. “You know we don’t have to go straight to fucking, right?” Charlie asks, kissing Harry’s hip. “There’s so much,” he kisses Harry again, closer to his center, “more,” his mouth moves to hover above Harry’s erection, “than that.”

When Charlie’s lips close over the head of Harry’s cock, he almost gives in immediately. Charlie slides the tip of his tongue back and forth over the slit, watching Harry with burning eyes, and it’s almost too much to watch. Harry’s eyes squeeze shut as Charlie’s lips slide further down his length until they meet his hand, gripping the base. Charlie moans, and Harry can’t stop his hips from thrusting up, desperate for more of the wet, vibrating heat.

And then Charlie pulls away altogether, eyebrow raised as he waits for an answer, and Harry wants to throttle him. “I still want you to fuck me,” Harry pants quickly. “Although I definitely wouldn’t object to more of that later.” Harry sees the anxiety on Charlie’s face, and pauses. “Unless you don’t want to,” he says quickly, grabbing for one of Charlie’s hands. “If you’re not comfortable I don’t want to force you--”

“No, that’s not it.” Charlie promises, pulling their fingers together. “I just want to make sure you’re doing this for the right reason, you know? Not because I want you to or you feel like you have to.”

Harry actually laughs. How could this man not see how much Harry wanted him? Ever since it became an option, this has been what Harry’s wanted, no questions asked. “I don’t think you could force me if you tried, Charlie.” he says honestly.

Charlie narrows his eyes at him, staring him down, until a laugh of his own escapes his throat. “You’re right. I forget who I’m talking to. What’s a little old dragon tamer to taking down a Dark Lord?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Precisely. Now, if you’d like to continue?” He turns onto his stomach. “Maybe this will make things easier.” Harry suggests. And then, much softer, “Can you try three fingers again?”

Charlie presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “Of course.”

“Just...slowly.” Harry says, feeling the fingers press into the muscle.

Now that he can expect what’s coming, it’s not half as bad as before. It’s still not comfortable, but after a few minutes of slow, repetitive probing, the pain dissipates. “It feels better now,” Harry encourages, pushing his arse back so that Charlie gets the message.

When Charlie responds, his voice is deeper than Harry’s come to expect, needier. “You look so fucking good like this, Harry. Do you know how often I used to watch your arse? Just you, walking around the Burrow or climbing the steps at Grimmauld. Sometimes, on the rare occasion you left the house, you’d wear this pair of jeans that made you look absolutely  _ edible _ ,” he growls against Harry’s ear. The words make Harry’s cock throb with desire; he’s barely even bothered by Charlie’s fingers sliding further into his arsehole. “Merlin, I can’t wait to put my cock in you, slide it in your arse and drive you crazy.” he pants.

“Do it,” Harry pleads. “I want it.”

Charlie removes his fingers slowly before scrambling off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. He returns with a condom and holds it out to Harry for inspection. “One subject muggles have always been more advanced in than wizards,” he claims. “Vanishing spells are fine but I always feel cleaner using a condom.” He jumps back on the mattress and fumbles around a bit before resting his hands on Harry’s hips. “Are you ready?”

Harry nods. “Just go slow.”

Charlie kisses down Harry’s spine. “Of course. And you can tell me to stop whenever you need.” He pulls apart the globes of Harry’s arse, lines up his cock, and presses in.

As expected, Harry has him stop before the tip is even halfway in. It’s been a while since Charlie’s been with a virgin, and he’s forgotten how long foreplay could take. Maybe he should have fingered him longer, Charlie thinks as minutes pass and Harry has yet to have him move again. “You okay?” Charlie murmurs, rubbing his hands down Harry’s back.

“Yeah, sorry.” Harry replies curtly. “Go again.”

Charlie counts to ten before obliging, then pushes until the head is in. He stops even though Harry doesn’t say anything. “Harry?” Charlie asks.

“Hang on,” Harry says. Now, Charlie wishes he had insisted on Harry facing him. He can’t tell if Harry is hurt or overwhelmed or trying not to come, although he seriously doubts the last one. All he can do is hold still and focus on the absolutely viselike grip Harry’s got on his cock. It’s heavenly, his arse, just as Charlie had imagined it to be (more than once). “Okay, keep moving.” Harry says finally, his words less strained than before. Charlie can feel him relaxing around him, so he obliges. 

Charlie presses forward again, and this time, neither makes a move to stop until Charlie is in to the hilt, his cock buried in hot, tight heat that makes him work to not come. “Are you good?” Charlie tries to keep his voice even.

“Yes. I think the worst is over,” Harry says, flexing his arse. Charlie groans, hips pressing harder against Harry. “Do you want to move?”

“Oh, Merlin, can I?” Charlie gasps.

“Yeah, Charlie,” Harry moans, and Charlie pulls back. He feels his cock drag across every inch of Harry’s insides and he wants nothing more than to slam himself back inside and never leave again.

“Still okay?” Charlie asks as he begins to push in again.

Harry wiggles his arse and pushes back on Charlie. “Definitely.”

Charlie finds a slow, flowing rhythm that Harry seems to like, given the few moans he’s been able to elicit, and Charlie can’t help but watch his cock slide in and out, in and out, in and out. “I’m never going to be able to not watch your arse after this, thinking about how good my cock looks in it. Can I tell you a secret?” Charlie bends over Harry’s back and presses his chest against it, one hand reaching for the headboard and the other dragging Harry’s hair out of his face. “Once, we were out at a pub with Bill and Ron and Hermoine, and you were wearing those damn jeans, and I couldn’t take it. I had to excuse myself to the toilet so I could wank because you were that. Damn. Hot.” he punctuates his words with faster, harder thrusts, and Harry’s breath comes in stuttering pants. “It didn’t even take me two minutes, you had me that worked up. And then I came back to the table and I had to act like everything was normal, like I hadn’t just let one off at the thought of your arse sitting just across the table from me.”

“Oh God, Charlie,” Harry moans, one of his hands moving from the mattress to his cock, jerking it in time with Charlie’s thrusts.

“I love hearing you moan my name,” Charlie gasps, wrapping his arm around Harry’s front and using his hand on the headboard to push them up, holding Harry’s back to his front so that they’re kneeling.

Harry’s body jerks and he lets out something close to a scream, high-pitched and uncontrollable. “Charlie, fuck, right there Charlie,” Harry babbles. Charlie’s hit something inside him that brings back the pleasurable tingling even stronger. He wants him to hit that spot again and stay there forever. He doesn’t even care that he’s being so loud and probably embarrassing himself; all that matters is Charlie sliding into him, making him feel in a way he’d never imagined was possible. The hand not on his cock reaches behind him for the man. His hand brushes across the side of his head and grabs his hair. “Harder.”

With his permission, Charlie slams into Harry once, twice, three times, and each time the boy release that sweet, desperate keen, his arse squeezing so tight that Charlie sees stars. Then, he changes to going faster. As much as he’d love to slam into Harry so hard he blacks out, he tries to remember that this is Harry’s first time and he’d probably like to be able to sit in class tomorrow.

Charlie bites down on the back of Harry’s neck and moans. “Harry, I’m going to come,” he says. It’s inevitable; he’s teetering right on the edge and the only thing holding him there is knowing that Harry isn’t.

“Yeah?” Harry moans throwing his hips back to meet Charlie. “Do it, Charlie. Come in me,” he says, pulling Charlie’s hair taut and careening his neck so he can envelop Charlie’s mouth in a smothering wet kiss.

As Charlie falls over the edge, he loses his balance and falls forward. “Fuck, fuck, Harry, fuck,” he chants like a mantra, their bodies landing on his mattress as Charlie fucks Harry through his orgasm, Harry whimpering beneath him. As he comes down from his peak, he reaches a hand out to Harry and knocks his hand off his cock. “I’ve got you, babe,” Charlie bites his earlobe and jerks him off, fast and urgent.

“Oh, Charlie,” Harry’s breathing gets heavier and heavier, and Charlie watches his face scrunch together.

“Are you going to come for me, Harry?” Charlie asks, and Harry nods quickly. “I’ve been thinking about watching you come for weeks, now, so ready you can’t think straight, can’t see straight, falling apart under my hands.” Although his erection is fading, he pushes further into Harry, letting him clench around his length and his moaning gets louder.

“Don’t stop, Charlie, don’t stop,” Harry’s voice is breathy and he thrusts into Charlie’s hand. “Oh fuck,” he says and then groans deeply as his orgasm quakes through him rendering him speechless as he ruts agaisnt Charlie, the redhead stroking him slowly until Harry pulls his hand away and asks him to pull out.

Charlie kiss down his neck as his breathing returns to normal, and then looks at his face, blissed out and peaceful. “How are you?”

Harry hums and kisses him. “Well, I definitely don’t regret it. In fact, I’m very interested in trying that again sometime. Soon, preferably.” Harry grins.

Charlie chuckles and kisses him back. “You, Harry Potter, are an excellent shag. I don’t know why I expected anything less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, your comments make my day every. single. time. i love watching y'all try and figure out where this story is going next! also i see how much the suspense of what draco gave harry is killing everyone and all i can say is!!! soon!! (aka 2 chapters gl)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all.
> 
> i'm sorry for making you wait for this all week. i've been kinda living my own irl fanfic lately and it's...wild
> 
> on the bright side! i'm on spring break from uni this week so expect a few updates in the coming days!!! (and yes the box will finally be back so stay tuned)

“Harry, where have you been?” Hermoine cries as soon as she sees him approaching the dinner table. “Ron said you weren’t there when he woke up and no one has seen you all day! We even went to Madame Pomfrey and she couldn’t tell us anything.” Ron, although not speaking, looks just as concerned as his girlfriend. Ginny gives him a supportive look before returning to her meal, and everyone else seems to be pointedly ignoring the trio.

Harry sits and grabs a plate, making a great effort to not wince at the tenderness in his arse. “Sorry about that, guys. I, erm, had a nightmare and kind of freaked out. I went on a walk to try and calm down and I ran into Ginny, who sent me to Charlie. I’ve...been with him, sleeping mostly.”

Hermoine gives him a look that draws the line between concern and curiosity. Ron, surprisingly, is the next to speak up. “Must have been a really bad one, mate. You should have gotten me.”

“I didn’t want to upset you more,” Harry says without thinking. Ron has the decency to look guilty even before Hermoine whacks his shoulder.

Dinner mostly consists of Hermoine filling Harry in on what he missed in class and promising to help him catch up and borrow her notes. She suggests they meet in the library an hour after dinner. “I would say we could go now, but Professor Flitwick has asked me to come speak with the new Muggle Studies club about muggle literature.” She preens and begins rambling about the Bronte sisters and George Orwell until dessert is being cleared and she realizes she’s almost late.

After she runs off, Ron stands. “Can we talk, mate?” he asks.

Harry stiffens. “Sure, Ron,” he says and follows him out of the hall.

Neither of them speak for a while, like they don’t know how to start the conversation. Ron doesn’t find the nerve to say anything until they’re nearly on the third floor. “So, I’ve been thinking,” he says finally. 

“You’ve been thinking or Hermoine’s been on your arse?” Harry snaps. As much as he misses Ron, the past few days of near silence have filled him with a sort of righteous anger.

Ron scratches the back on his head. “Bit of both, really. But I still wanted to apologize for freaking out about you and Malfoy. That was maybe...not the best way to handle it.” he says, cheeks reddening.

“Yeah, probably not,” Harry agrees. “But you feel better about it now?”

Ron sighs. “I mean, of all the blokes to choose, you had to go with _ him _ ?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It just happened...if it makes you feel better, I haven’t even talked to him since that night.” Perhaps Harry should feel bad about that, just ditching him after spending the night in his bed without so much as a goodbye. There’s been so much else to worry about other than Malfoy’s feelings, though--If he even had them, that is. “But...you’re okay? With...the bloke thing?”

Ron’s face fills with indignation. “Of course I am!” he looks Harry in the eyes. “I mean this from the bottom of my heart, Harry: I  _ really _ don’t care who you’re shagging. At least hearing about you with some guy is better than hearing about you with Ginny,” he shivers at the thought.

Harry can’t help but crack a smile, and the air between them feels lighter. His whole body feels lighter, too. Ron and Hermoine know, and they’re okay with it. That’s all he could have hoped for. “We never shagged, if that makes you feel any better.”

Ron speeds up his steps, leaving Harry to jog to catch up. “Any sentence that references both my sister and shagging can never make me feel better,” he cries as he reaches the dormitory.

Dumbledore gives him an odd look, and when Harry reaches him, he can see the blush has spread down his neck. “Professor,” Ron squeaks. Harry laughs as Ron stutters through the password and runs past the portrait as soon as he can, Harry quick to follow.

As soon as they walk into the common room, Blaise ropes Ron into a game of Wizards’ Chess. “Want to join?” Ron asks, smiling at him for the first time since the weekend.

“Actually, I think I might try to nap before we meet with Hermoine. That nightmare really took it out of me,” Harry feels only slightly bad about lying; at the moment, he would rather die than tell Ron he’s tired because his brother fucked him mere hours ago and that sitting is kind of starting to bother his arse.

Ron looks at him with sympathy. “Do you want me to come with?”

Harry really does love his friends. How could he have tried to keep secrets from them? They’ve always taken him as he was in stride, from the moment they met. Why would now be any different? “No, I’ll be fine. Come wake me up when it’s time to meet Hermoine, yeah?” Ron agrees, and Harry leaves him surrounded by a table of slytherins. Their 12-year-old selves would vomit.

When Harry enters the darkening room, he notices Malfoy’s curtains are closed, as usual. He hears some shuffling around behind them, but tries not to pay it much attention. Getting into bed and reliving the highlights of his morning sounds so much more appealing than talking to someone he’s not even sure he can consider a friend.

Harry’s just settled into his own bed when he hears it: a soft, muffled moan that takes him back to Saturday night, to the hot, sticky press of Malfoy’s chest against his own. At first, Harry resolves to ignore the sound. Who’s to say that Malfoy is actually doing the thing Harry’s perverted mind has convinced him of? Maybe he’s having a nightmare.

God, he hopes Malfoy’s having a nightmare.

_ Of course not _ , Harry thinks as another moan reaches his ears. This one is higher, louder, needier, and the exact sound Malfoy made seconds before he came on Saturday. His cock can’t help but respond. He watches the way Malfoy’s curtains quiver, and strains his ears. For a moment, there’s nothing but the soft creaking of Malfoy’s bed, and Harry wonders if he should say something. Surely Malfoy should have heard him come in, right? Maybe he was too...distracted, like they were last time. 

Suddenly, a high-pitched whine fills the room, followed by a soft groan of “fuck” as the bed squeaks more intensely, then stops altogether. A deep pulse of desire burns in Harry’s stomach.

Harry yanks his own curtains closed before he can get caught, and a minute later he hears Malfoy roll out of his bed and the bathroom door closing. Once the pounding water of the shower starts, Harry allows himself to unzip his trousers and grab himself. When he reaches orgasm minutes later, it’s to a jumbled up mess of Malfoy riding him and Charlie stretching him open, and when he comes down from the high, he can’t help but feel entirely like a whore.

“You’re quiet.” Charlie observes over their cocoa in front of the fire the next night. Without hesitation, he slides his hand against Harry’s and intertwines their fingers. “What’s up?”

“What are we?” Harry blurts out immediately. He can’t stop himself anymore; it’s been the question running through his head on a never-ending loop since Transfiguration this afternoon. Being in a room with Malfoy and Charlie at the same time drove him insane, especially when Charlie smiled at him every time he answered a question in class and whenever he looked in Malfoy’s direction, the man was staring at him intently. By the end of the lesson, he’d come to the conclusion that Malfoy had definitely planned for Harry to walk in on him wanking. He’d done a good job; Harry hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

But Charlie, Harry thinks as he watches the man in front of him consider his words. He seems taken aback, and he really shouldn’t be thinking about how adorable he looks in his confusion, with his nose scrunching up like that. “What do you want to be?” he asks finally.

As much as he knew that would be Charlie’s answer, he still didn’t know how to answer it. Does he want to be with Charlie, go on dates with him and spend as many night in his bed as they can manage? Absolutely. Does he want to confront Malfoy about the mounting sexual tension between them that he’s pretty sure will only end one way? Positively. He can’t wait to. “I don’t know.” he decides on, biting his lip and looking down to their hands. “I’ve never been in something serious before. Not like this.”

“I know,” Charlie reassures. He brings his free hand up to Harry’s cheek and leans in. His lips are soft, questioning, waiting for a response. Harry kisses back, and his gut twists. Kissing Charlie fills him with a yearning that he can’t understand, one that wants to give Charlie everything and anything--it’s what he deserves. It would be terrifying if he were kissing anyone but Charlie, but because it’s him, he feels safe, comforted.

But Malfoy.

There was something there, too. Was it lust? Quite possibly. A lust that, looking back, has been building since fifth year, crescendoing into something that’s no longer able to be ignored. Maybe it’s just something he needs to get out of his system. Fuck Malfoy until he can’t walk and come down this throat and leave bruises on his neck and be done with it.

But Charlie.

Harry pulls back and refuses to look at Charlie’s face. Guilt seeps out of his pores and a tightening in his throat makes it hard to breathe. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be...together, together, but I don’t want to stop kissing you.” he frowns as he says it out loud. It sounded infinitely better in his head. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s actually pretty common.” Charlie says. “That’s what hookups are, right?”

Harry refuses to let Charlie be just a hookup. “That sounds so impersonal.” he says, looking to Charlie with distaste.

Charlie hums and looks at the fire. “Agreed. What about, I don’t know, friends with benefits?”

Harry can’t hide his dislike for that term, either. “Merlin, these are all terrible.”

Charlie shrugs. “You know we don’t have to put a label on it, right? We can just...do us. Whatever that means.”

Harry nods, and smiles in relief. Honestly, what would he do without Charlie these days? “Okay. We’ll ‘do us.’” Charlie laughs and wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulders.

An hour later, Harry is laying on Charlie’s lap as they listen to the end scores of the Cannons vs. Magpies Quidditch match on the wireless. Well, they would be listening, had Charlie not decided to turn cuddling into snogging and snogging into full-on making out.

When Harry lightly grinds down on him, Charlie’s hands move to either side of Harry’s waist. “Wait,” he mutters, holding him still.

Harry moves his lips down Charlie’s neck and tangles his fingers at the nape of his neck in hopes to make him reconsider. “Why?” Harry asks.

“Can I ask you something?” Charlie says, eyes shifting. He looks tense.

“Anything,” Harry replies.

“Okay,” Charlie starts. “And I don’t mean anything by asking this, I’m just curious, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want-”

“Yes?” Harry’s voice vibrates against Charlie’s neck, cutting off his rambling.

Charlie swallows before responding, and Harry pulls back to look at him. “Does your uncertainty have anything to do with the guy from Saturday?”

It takes Charlie maybe two seconds to read Harry like a card. “I hate that I have to say this to an actual person, but it’s complicated.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself unless you want to.” Charlie’s smile is bittersweet, like someone who knows they’re losing a fight. They weren’t fighting, though.

Were they?

“I’m sorry,” Harry says.

Charlie sighs. “Don’t be. Just figure yourself out, and let me know when you do.” Charlie presses their lips together one more time before he removes Harry from his lap and stands. “I think I might have an early night. Grading all of these papers is kicking my arse.”

“They would be less painful if you didn’t make us write them,” Harry smiles sweetly.

Charlie rolls his eyes playfully and walks to the door of his office. “But then you’d never be ready for your N.E.W.T.s.”

Harry stands and follows. He stops Charlie before he opens the door and kisses him. “Are you alright?” As true as his excuse may be, Harry knows what’s going on here. Charlie never kicks him out. Harry always makes his exit as soon as one of them starts dozing or getting that lazy, spaced-out look in their eyes.

“Yeah.” Charlie squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “Just need some time to myself, I reckon.”

Harry nods. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

A frown falls on Charlie’s face. “Staff meeting. Friday?”

“Perfect,” Harry says quickly. “It’s a date.”

He kicks himself for saying that the entire walk back to his room. “You don’t look well, my boy,” Dumbledore’s portrait greets when Harry approaches.

“Do I ever?” Harry scoffs.

Dumbledore’s eyebrows draw together. “What’s troubling you?”

Harry looks around the empty hallway, listening for echoes of footsteps. It’s silent and after curfew, which is the only reason he decides to humor the portrait instead of snapping the password like he has been the second he gets to the door lately. “I really don’t think you want to hear about my relationship troubles, sir.” He sighs.

Dumbledore’s eyes brighten. “It’s certainly better than sitting in Minerva’s office all night.”

Harry turns away from him and paces. Is he really about to tell his past Headmaster, the man who’s played games with him since the beginning of his life, about his love life? It seems so anticlimactic, yet the thought of telling him the truth feels just as nerve wracking as meeting with him any time during fifth year, when Dumbledore did everything he could to ignore Harry.

“There’s this guy I like,” Harry starts boldly, eyes staring Dumbledore down, daring him to react. “A lot. And he wants a relationship with me, but I don’t know if I’m ready for it. I want to...experience other things before I settle down with someone.” he finishes lamely, realizing he isn’t ready to talk about Malfoy with anyone only after he opens his mouth.

Dumbledore nods, carefully taking Harry in. “As I thought. I’ve seen many couples come and go through the halls of Hogwarts in my time. These things have a way of working themselves out, usually. And if you’re talking about the man I think you are, I’d say you have no reason to worry.” He has that all-knowing twinkle in his eye that makes Harry feel like he’s tiny and transparent. “Often, the most important of connections take the longest to form. You should not feel pressured--by him or yourself--to move more quickly than you’re ready to.”

Now he remembers why he had agreed to tell Dumbledore. As much as he didn’t tell Harry, the advice he did give him was always solid. “And Harry?” he continues. “Do not feel like you’re alone in your sexuality. I’m sure you’ve heard about my...relationship with Grindelwald?”

It takes Harry a moment to realize what the man is saying. “You mean, you were together? Like, dating together?”

Dumbledore smiles at him, but still manages to look sad. “It was a shame things turned out the way they did, given our situation. Love was simply not enough to save him,” he looks away, off into something out of the frame of his portrait.

How could he not have known that his mentor was gay after all this time? The more Harry learns about Dumbledore, the more he feels like he never really knew anything at all. How sheltered has he been, up until now? “I’m sorry, sir.” As much as he doesn’t want to, Harry can empathize with him. He puts himself and Charlie in that situation; he can’t say for sure that he would have the strength to take him down. However, at the same time, a kernel of annoyance pops up in his chest. He’d told Dumbledore he likes men out of spite, almost looking for a fight. And Dumbledore had taken it in stride, just like he does with everything Harry tells him. He wants to shock Dumbledore again, like he did the other night during his panic attack. He doesn’t want the portrait’s endless understanding--he wants a duel. He feels his magic prickling under his skin, ready to explode on his own say so.

Dumbledore speaks up, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “Perhaps what you need is a good night’s sleep. I always find that my thoughts seem to untangle while I rest.” Without Harry saying the password, the portrait swings open. Like Charlie had, he’s giving Harry an out.

And he would be stupid not to take it. Without another word, he jumps into the common room and heads straight for his bed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just finished a hp movie marathon and i have so many emotions (again) and IDEAS 
> 
> more sex ahead!! (also a slight trigger warning for a ptsd flashback-it's not anything graphic or too intense, but it's there)

In the next week, Harry wanks more frequently than he ever has in his life. 

After finding a copy of Malfoy’s timetable left out on his desk, Harry finds himself rushing back to their room half an hour before the end of his lessons to set up. He leaves his bed curtains open and puts his hand down his trousers and waits for Malfoy to come back to their room. He thinks the best way to get back at Malfoy for his attempted seduction is to force him into the same position he’d put Harry in. 

He supposes he could simply ask Malfoy to talk, much like the way Malfoy had confronted him at the beginning of the year, but when have they ever done things the easy way?

Unfortunately, his plan has yet to fall into place, but it’s still the best one he’s got--well, the one that requires the least amount of actual talking. And anyways, he’s got a good feeling about today. Heat simmers under his skin and he swears he catches Malfoy’s eyes more than usual. 

“This is about Malfoy, isn’t it?” Hermione narrows her eyes after Harry rejects an after-class study session for the third day in a row. 

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to spend his last year with his head buried in a book,” Ron grumbles, glaring at the ground. As Hermoine’s boyfriend, he hasn’t had as much deniability as Harry has. Harry can’t imagine what their studying looks like without him—it’s probably rather angry and unproductive. 

Still, Harry blushes. “Um, well.”

Ron looks up, and he pales. “Blimey, Harry, please tell me you haven’t been blowing us off to shag the ferret in our room every day!”

Hermione slaps his arm before Harry can defend himself. “Ronald! What Harry does with Malfoy in his free time is up to him. Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” she scolds. 

“Oh, I want to know,” he says hotly. His face turns sheepish when he looks back to Harry. “You are, aren’t you?”

Harry’s face is so hot that he feels sweat break out on his upper lip. “I’ll have you know that nothing has happened.”  _ Not for lack of trying _ . “Not since the first time.” On Tuesday, it had been Blaise that accompanied Malfoy to his room; Harry had just barely recognized the second voice in the nick of time, spelling his curtains shut a split second before they entered. Wednesday, he’d waited in bed for nearly an hour before Ron had come in and asked him to join in a pick up game of quidditch. Today though. Today is his chance. 

“Yet,” Hermione supplies. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yet.”

Ron looks around the hallway, then leans in close and lowers his voice. “You’re really going to give Malfoy your virginity, mate?” He says, cringing. 

Hermione slaps him again, but this time, Harry speaks up before he can stop himself. “Who says I'm a virgin?” he snaps. 

Harry thinks that if there were an earthquake right at this second that opened a hole under him and lead him to his death, that would be utterly fantastic. 

Ron physically takes a step back, and Hermoine’s eyes are wider than an owl. “You aren’t?” Ron asks at the same time Hermione demands “since when?”

Embarrassment so fully fills Harry’s veins that he feels like he might pass out from it. “No, not since the summer,” he lies. 

Hermoine appears to be holding back with every fiber of her being, but Ron is not so restrained. “With who? I thought you said you and Ginny never buggered.” His skin has taken on something of a greenish tint. 

“We didn’t!” Harry insists. Ron gives him a look of disbelief, so he digs himself deeper into his hole for his best friend’s sake. “It was with some bloke at a pub, alright? That’s why I didn’t say anything.” Harry knows for a fact that neither of his best friends will react well when they find out that the “bloke” is Charlie, and the “pub” is Charlie’s chambers. He imagines Ron will throw a similar fit as he did when he first found out about Harry and Ginny; Hermoine will probably read him the riot act about the problematic nature of teachers being with one of their students. That’s a box he doesn’t want to open, even more so than the Malfoy situation. 

This gives them some pause, and his mortification slowly fades into relief. “I suppose that makes sense,” Hermoine deflates. 

Ron pauses, but then follows her lead with a look of guilt. “Yeah, sorry mate.” 

“It’s alright. I still should have mentioned it earlier.”

“Harry, it’s not any of our business, really,” Hermoine insists. “I didn’t mean to bring this all up when I asked about Malfoy.”

_ Malfoy _ , Harry remembers. “It’s fine, I promise.” he says quickly. “If you don’t mind, though, I’ll be off now,” he continues, looking back down the hallway leading to the dorm. “See you at dinner?”

“Yes, of course,” Hermoine says as Ron nods. “Good luck,” she gives him a smirk. 

“Shut up,” Harry grins before they give him a push towards the room. He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He makes it back to the room with five minutes left in Malfoy’s last lesson, and he’s already half hard. He has a good feeling about today; the knowing that this dance will finally come to a head turns him on more than he’s ever been without touch. After throwing his robes over his desk chair, he shucks his trousers off at the end of his bed and changes into a t-shirt he stole from Ron years ago.

He sighs as he relaxes into his mattress, palming his hand over the bulge in his pants. His free hand drags up the center of his chest, a remembrance of tequila rolling across his skin. He can’t help but shiver. 

Hearing steps approach the hallway, he pauses. A muted humming comes from the other side of the door—a habit, Harry has learned from living with Malfoy, that he only indulges in when he thinks he’s alone. 

Perfect. 

The footsteps stop in front of the door, and the door squeaks on its hinges. 

Harry rubs his length in anticipation, and the second he visually confirms Malfoy is, in fact, alone, he lets out a throaty moan, making eye contact with the blond across the room. 

Malfoy flushes immediately and slams the door shut behind him. “You’re absolutely shameless,” he says, words catching in his throat. “You bloody gryffindor.”

Harry continues touching himself under his pants. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” He pants. 

Malfoy smirks, drops his bag and robes, and struts to Harry’s bed. “Partially.” He stands at the end of the bed, looking over Harry as his hand moves. “Though my desires generally have you a lot more naked than this.”

Harry throws his head back, grabbing himself tighter. “Tell me what you want,” he breathes. 

Without a word, Malfoy jumps into his bed and straddles Harry. He pulls Harry’s pants down, exposing him. “Right now? To see you fall apart.”

Harry groans. “That won’t be very hard.”

Slapping Harry’s hand away, Malfoy rests on Harry’s thighs and grabs his cock. “Have you been thinking of me, Potter?” He asks, smug. Harry doesn’t understand how someone can look so unbothered in a situation like this. He doesn’t want to give in to Malfoy so easily, but he knows it won’t take long for him to lose control entirely. 

“How could I not? After your—” he trails off and gasps as Malfoy twists his wrist in a way he never would have managed on his own. 

If it’s possible, Malfoy looks even more proud of himself. “Ah, so you’ve finally gotten around to opening my gift.”

Harry’s eyebrows draw together. “Actually, I kind of forgot about it...Sorry,” he says, and all traces of mirth drain from Malfoy’s face. 

“Really?” Malfoy jerks him faster, tighter. It almost verges on pain, the way he’s moving against the sensitive skin, and Harry can’t think. “So what, you thought I would just like to watch you fuck around after last weekend?” he hisses. 

Harry’s back arches as Malfoy runs his thumb over the head of his cock, but the blond’s weight holds him in place. “Answer me,” he demands, leaning down and getting in Harry’s face. 

“No!” Harry cries out, nearly knocking his forehead against Malfoy’s. “I caught you wanking— _ fuck _ —earlier this week.” He bucks up against him, and only then realizes how hard Malfoy is, watching Harry come undone in his hands. The bulge of his erection strains against his trousers in a way that can’t possibly be even slightly comfortable. “And you’ve been watching me— _ Draco _ —in lessons ever since.” Harry finds the wherewithal to reach one of his hands forward to drag down the blond’s zipper. 

“Hmm,” Malfoy moans as Harry’s hand finds him through his trousers. “I suppose you’re not entirely as oblivious as I suspected,” he says, trying to keep his voice neutral even as he pushes against Harry’s hand. 

“Well it’s not like you’re subtle about it,” Harry grabs him as hard as Malfoy’s holding him. Instead of loosening his grip as Harry hoped it would, Malfoy throws his head back and hisses, the sharp intake of breath between teeth making Harry’s cock throb.

Malfoy grinds into Harry’s hand, slow and seductive. “Oh, Salazar, please keep doing that,” he begs, words high-pitched and needy. His grip on Harry loosens and his hand eventually stops moving altogether as he loses himself in Harry’s hands.

“I should leave you like this,” Malfoy smirks. “Maybe you’ll finally open the fucking box if I won’t make you come until you do.”

“Fuck, don’t,” Harry pants, hips twitching. Malfoy’s been watching his hands closely, waiting for them to move from one cock to the other. Harry might have broken by now, had he not been positive that Malfoy would somehow make this ten times worse if he did. The way Malfoy’s eyes rake over him is hawkish, like missing a second of the view would be blasphemy. “ _ Please _ ,” Harry will never admit he’s begged Malfoy for anything, but in the moment Harry knows that’s what it is, that there is no other way of describing the wanton, moaned words leaving his lips.

Malfoy’s hand tightens and Harry can’t stop his hips from rolling forward, the head of his cock brushing between his fingers against the soft, silky fabric covering Malfoy’s erection. “Patience, Potter,” Malfoy sighs and his eyes drift closed. He tilts his head back slightly as his thighs tighten on either side of Harry’s, holding him down as he tries to thrust up again.

“Why?” Harry asks, finding the zipper on Malfoy’s trousers.

Then, Malfoy’s hands are throwing Harry’s arms against the bed, pinning him by the wrists. “Because I said so,” he says simply, grinding down his hips.

Harry tenses, the muscles in his arms flexing against Malfoy’s hold. Watching the blond glower down on him, holding Harry in place to do with as he pleases, awakens something in Harry that he hasn’t felt in a long time: helplessness. Suddenly, he’s ten again, Vernon holding him against the wall by his neck or eating dirt as Dudley’s friends hold him on the ground while Dudley himself gets in a few kicks before they return home. Harry can feel himself softening, panic filling his lungs as Malfoy presses more of his weight against Harry.

“Stop,” the whisper scratches up his throat and burns his tongue. It feels wrong. Maybe it’s because this is the first time Harry’s found himself in a position to be able to say ‘stop’.

To his credit, Malfoy pulls away instantly, eyes dazed and lips parted. “Stop what?” he asks, still straddled over Harry’s hips. He moves carefully as to not push them together as much as possible.

Harry pulls his arms to his chest and rubs his wrists absently. “Don’t hold me down like that, alright?” he pauses for a second, but eventually gives in to the urge to continue his explanation--he blames Charlie for that. “In my experience, being held down has never been a pleasurable thing.”

Malfoy nods. “Noted. Do you want to stop?”

Harry allows himself to look down to where they’re connected. Malfoy is still incredibly hard, and after he’d removed his hands from Harry’s wrist, Harry feels normal. And after waiting all this time for his plan to finally pan out, he refuses to give up that easily. “I want to watch you come,” Harry responds, and Malfoy smirks.

With one hand, Malfoy palms Harry’s erection, while the other moves to his trousers and undoes them. “Is this alright?” Malfoy asks, reaching into his boxers with his eyes on Harry’s. His eyelids flutter as his hand connects with his cock, and Harry shivers.

“S’good,” Harry affirms with a moan. He moves his hands to Malfoy’s hips and squeezes, urging him forward. 

With Harry watching him, touching him, Malfoy pulls his length free. It’s thin, but long, and just as pale as Harry had expected it to be. Malfoy strokes it a few times and Harry nearly comes then and there, closing his eyes and holding his breath to keep from exploding. “Easy, Potter,” Malfoy says, voice unsteady.

Harry opens his eyes at the same time he pulls Malfoy’s hips forward. Moving his hand, Malfoy allows his cock to fall forward against Harry’s, rubbing against it as they move together. Malfoy’s head droops as pleasure blossoms across his face, and Harry pushes himself up, their foreheads touching as they pant, open-mouthed.

With Harry’s hands as a guide, Malfoy starts moving rhythmically. Harry lets him roll his hips against Harry, who holds them together firmly, cocks sliding against one another in tantalizing friction, before allowing Malfoy to pull away for a second of reprieve and driving them back together. Before long, Harry’s hands slide down into Malfoy’s pants, reaching around his sides and grabbing Malfoy’s arse.

The blond moans loudly and leans forward, slotting their open mouths together into a kiss so deep that Harry doesn’t even want to call a kiss. The way their tongues slide together makes him feel absolutely filthy and he never wants it to end. His hands tighten around Malfoy’s arse like claws, digging into the skin and forcing it harshly against himself. The unexpected rough drag of their cocks between their sweaty, toned chests makes Harry lick further into Malfoy’s mouth, like he’s trying to swallow him whole. Harry has never understood that expression until now, this moment where he wants nothing more than to become part of Malfoy, part of this pleasure they’ve created, forever.

As Harry continues forcing them together more roughly, he continues swallowing down the sounds Malfoy makes with increasing frequency. He can feel the way Malfoy’s arse cheeks clench together as he hurtles toward the edge, and Harry can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be fucking him in this moment. Then, Malfoy squeezes a hand between them and wraps his fingers around both of their cocks and begins stroking them, fast and tight. “Shit, Harry,” Malfoy disconnects their lips to moan, but Harry follows them and bites Malfoy’s lower lip, pulling it back and humming against it. Malfoy’s heavy breaths are coming with little whimpers and his thighs tremble against Harry’s.  _ He looks wrecked _ , Harry thinks, and his toes curl.

Harry feels Malfoy come more than he sees it. He feels the blond’s weight lean into him, the hand in between them growing wetter as it slows and relaxes, the steady hum of vibrations against his mouth as Malfoy comes down from his peak. It’s so hot that Harry can’t hold himself back; he lets go of Malfoy’s arse with one hand and moves it between them, grabbing his member and jerking himself off as fast as he can. “Yeah, Harry, come for me,” Malfoy encourages as he comes back to himself. “I can tell how close you are just by the look on your face. Show me how you fall apart, baby.”

And how can he not when Malfoy asks so politely?

For half a second, he tries to remember if they’d put up a silencing charm before his brain short-circuits and he decides he can’t care less. He shouts Draco’s name as the first traces of his orgasm shoot up Draco’s chest, his neck, his chin. Harry would laugh if he wasn’t too busy holding onto Draco as tremors wrack his body and blur his vision. As Harry finishes himself off, Draco lowers him back into a lying position and rolls off of him, rubbing a hand down his chest as their breathing evens out.

“Fuck,” Harry says finally, signalling their return back to earth.

Draco nods in agreement, then leans in and connects their lips again. It’s sweet, thankful, and promising, their kiss, and Harry can only hope that it’s a promise for more to come. Harry knew that Draco would be the hottest thing to ever happen to his sex life, and now that it’s been confirmed, he wants to do it again and again and again. Preferably consecutively.

They lie together for a few minutes before Draco does up his trousers and stands. “Hope you enjoyed, Potter, because I’m not doing that again until you’ve opened my truce gift and wear it while begging for forgiveness.” Harry can see the mask slide over his face as he puts distance between them, the knowing, secret smile morphing into something hard and taunting. It doesn’t feel cruel to Harry anymore--it hasn’t for a while, in all honesty. He supposes that’s what happens when you see one another hit rock bottom, like they had at Malfoy Manor. That’s all it is anymore: a mask.

One that Harry wants to learn to see through.

Harry blinks in confusion, which is enough for Draco to dismiss himself to the bathroom, door locking behind him. The shower starts and Harry allows himself to relax. He checks the time and, seeing that there’s still an hour left until dinner, spells his curtain closed. He settles in for a quick post-orgasm nap before having to face his friends again, who he’s positive will be onto him from the second they see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i've seen a few comments contemplating the endgame couple of this fic and idk i feel like i've kinda already given it away with the polyamory tag ;)
> 
> any guesses on draco's present???


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, here it is!! finally!! tell me what you think!!

Fresh memories of Malfoy grinding on him is why Harry finds himself digging through his desk drawer after class the next afternoon. He finds the small box pressed against the back wall of the drawer, shiny green wrapping paper scuffed and a corner slightly dented. Harry wants to believe that Malfoy would know better than to give him something easily broken.

As he slides his finger into the folds of the paper, Harry thinks back to Malfoy telling him he’ll have to wear this present if he wants anything else to happen between them. The box fits in the palm of his hand and doesn’t feel particularly dense...Merlin, did Malfoy buy him  _ jewelry _ ?

As it happens, opening the box doesn’t give him much explanation. The object inside is soft and rubbery; to Harry, it looks like a smooth, rounded Christmas tree, especially with its light green color. The base is adorned with a wide gemstone of a darker, Slytherin green. He pulls it out of the box and shifts it between his hands, looks at it from every angle before deciding he has absolutely no idea what Malfoy has given him.

There’s only one person he’ll trust to be straight with him, and before he knows it he finds himself knocking on the door to McGonagall’s old office--despite already spending more time in the room this year than the past seven combined, it’s still first and foremost the place where McGonagall helped him schedule his classes and gave him biscuits for yelling at Umbridge.

Charlie’s smile is small but relieved when he sees Harry. “Hey, stranger.”

Harry blushes. It’s been three days since he’s talked to Charlie outside of class. He just hasn’t feel right, treating Charlie like nothing has changed while simultaneously thinking about the best way to get in Malfoy’s pants. “Are you busy?” he asks.

Charlie steps aside and gestures for him to enter. “I’m free until dinner.”

Harry walks straight into Charlie’s chambers with his eyes on the ground. His steps are quick and light as he moves to his seat. “Before I say anything else, I want you to know that I’m still figuring things out. I don’t want you to expect anything from me,” he says in one breath, clasping his hands together.

The couch shifts under Charlie’s weight. “Okay.” he says simply, as if it was a given. Harry forces himself to look up, and Charlie’s eyes show more concern than anything. Despite Harry feeling like his entire world is turning on its head, Charlie hasn’t changed. They’re still sitting together, knees touching, Charlie’s solid, calm presence an anchor to Harry’s chaos. He still looks at Harry like they’re equals, like he wants to help Harry see that too. They’re still okay. The only thing missing is the cocoa. “What’s going on?”

Harry pulls his satchel off his shoulder and holds it in his lap. “Well, I’ve gotten this gift from M-someone,” he starts, fighting the flush already burning up his neck. “But I’m not really sure what it is, and I didn’t know who else to ask.”

Charlie’s smile grows, and his bites his lip like he’s trying not to laugh. Harry tries not to be distracted by it, but Charlie ends up having to repeat himself with a smirk. “Have you got it with you?”

Harry pulls the box out of his bag and hands it over. Charlie rips open the box, and when he looks back to Harry, his face is as red as his hair and he’s wearing an unreadable expression. “Who gave this to you?” he asks, voice catching in his throat.

Harry takes a deep breath, contemplates lying before deciding there’s no point. Why else did he come here if not to tell him? “Draco Malfoy.”

Charlie’s face goes carefully blank as he looks away, and a burning starts in Harry’s stomach. “I’m assuming that he’s the other guy you’ve been seeing, then?” he asks to the floor.

Now, Harry feels as though he might vomit. “H-How did you know?”

Charlie laughs, low and humorless. He stands and paces in front of the fireplace. “You really don’t know what this is, huh? You’re not taking the piss?”

Harry’s eyebrows draw together. “I mean, he said I should wear it the next time we…” he trails off, seeing Charlie somehow grow even redder. “So I guess it’s some kind of wizarding accessory no one bothered to tell me about? Other than that, no, I’ve never seen anything like it.” Charlie stops pacing in front of him, places the box on the table and rubs a hand over his mouth. “ _ Should _ I know?” Harry asks quietly.

“Well, I reckon you wouldn’t, if you’ve only figured out you like blokes this summer,” Charlie mumbles more to himself than to Harry.

Harry’s face sours. “Oh, so this is some kind of gay thing?”

“Not exclusively.” He can see the way Charlie steels himself, squaring his shoulders clenching his jaw. “It’s a sex toy, Harry. ‘S called a butt plug...for reasons which I hope are obvious.”

They are. Immediately.

“Bloody hell,” Harry breathes, sitting up to look into the box on the table. Malfoy wants him to  _ wear _ that? 

Charlie swallows. “When did he give you this?”

“Before lessons started. He said it was a ‘truce gift’.”

Charlie’s eyes go wide. “And he didn’t know you were bent?” Harry shakes his head, and Charlie lets out a big huff of air. “That’s some Gryffindor-level boldness.”

Harry hasn’t thought about it like that before. Draco Malfoy is quite possibly one of the least Gryffindor people he knows; to say he does anything in a Gryffindor manner is enough to get those six words to start up in his head again like a mantra:

Draco Malfoy is up to something.

“I still mean what I said about him, you know?” Harry waits for Charlie to look at him before continuing. “Truce or not, sometimes I still want to hex the shit out of him.”

Charlie takes him in for a moment, ensuring his earnesty, before allowing himself to smile. He walks back to the couch and plops into his seat again. “Me too.”

Charlie stares into the fireplace, his body relaxing as his brows furrow. Without thinking, Harry reaches over and grabs Charlie’s hand. Charlie looks at him--really looks at him for maybe the first time since Harry entered the room. He looks nervous. “What is it?” Harry asks, turning so he can fully face the redhead.

Charlie looks down at their connected hands with bittersweet eyes. “He seems pretty serious about you.”

Harry’s eyebrows draw together. “Really?” he asks in disbelief. He feels like everything between them this year has been about sex: no emotion, just pleasure.

Charlie shrugs. “I wouldn’t buy this for someone I didn’t trust, especially not at your age.”

He has a point.

Harry supposes he’s never really had to think about it before. It’s not like there’s a handbook on dating your former nemesis. Harry from even six months ago would throttle present-day him for even thinking of seeing Malfoy as anything other than an evil ferret. Now, he’s contemplating whether or not he’s  _ serious _ about the prick.

With the hand holding Charlie’s, Harry tugs him closer so he can lay his head on Charlie’s shoulder. “I don’t know what he thinks,” Harry concedes. “But just so you know, I’d choose you over him. It’s not that serious to me.”  _ It’s only the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. No big deal. _

Charlie kisses his forehead. It feels odd against his scar, the soft intimacy of the act against something so tainted. “I don’t want you to choose. All I want is to be with you and keep my job.” 

Harry frowns. “Doesn’t that kind of require me to choose you over him?”

Again, Charlie shrugs. “We can cross that bridge later.” Then, he dives forward and presses a short, but firm kiss against Harry’s lips. “Right now, I can think of better things to do than worrying about that bastard.”

Harry laughs, and kisses him back, allowing Charlie to pull him into his lap.

“I promise, I’ll be all yours this weekend,” Harry pleads as he enters the common room with Ron and Hermoine.

“Honestly, Harry, have you even started revising for any of our lessons?” Hermoine scolds.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” he holds his head up proudly. Studying is one of the only things he can do at five a.m. before the rest of the castle wakes up. “You can quiz me, even.”

Hermione beams, and Ron groans. “Oh, come on, mate! You know she’ll be up all night thinking up questions now, don’t you?”

Harry smiles at his friends and shrugs. “If that’s how she wants to spend her time, let her. Meanwhile, I’ll be in our room.”

Ron glowers at him before Hermoine drags him away, yelling “See you at dinner, Harry!” over her shoulder.

Malfoy still has another hour of lessons before Hary expects him to return, giving him what he hopes will be enough time to figure... _ it _ out. As soon as he’s closed himself in his room, he pulls out the trunk he has stowed under his bed and finds the box he has stashed away, along with the still-sealed bottle of lube. He didn’t think he would actually end up having a use for it this year, but now he’s glad he has it--he’s sure it will come in handy.

He pulls out Malfoy’s present and looks at it closely again, taking it in like it’s the first time he’s seen it. The plug is much smaller than Charlie, but somehow more imposing. Sex toys have only been on Harry’s radar for about a year (after finding a vibrator in Hermoine’s overnight bag--that had been a particularly dreadful and highly enlightening conversation), and he’s never found himself particularly attached to the idea of them. His hand has always done a perfectly good job on its own. But now, this is the price on touching Malfoy again, so he wants to get used to it as quickly as possible.

He strips himself of his bottoms and settles into bed before deciding it would be more comfortable to ditch the shirt, as well. For the first few minutes, Harry tries to forget about the toy laying next to him, enjoying the feel of his hand on his dick as he imagines Malfoy’s tongue on his chest. It’s odd, Harry thinks absently, how he’s seen the most private parts of Malfoy, but rarely starts any kind of conversation with the man outside of their bedroom. He supposes they’re being civil, just like Malfoy had asked them to be, but it doesn’t feel like enough anymore, that label.

Harry works himself to full hardness before grabbing for the bottle of lube. After rising to his knees and coating his hand and the plug, he sets to work, realizing two things almost immediately:

  1. He never wants to jerk off without lube ever again, and 
  2. Despite the relative smallness of the plug, perhaps preparation would have been helpful.



He can’t help freezing, clenching against the toy as his body adjusts, holding his cock tightly to keep his hard-on from flagging. “Fuck,” he pants, eyes squeezed shut.

_ You have to relax _ , Charlie’s voice soothes from the back of his brain. Harry forces himself to breathe in, count to ten, and breathe out. He does this five times before the stretching fades into fullness and Harry feels like he can move again. He pulls out the plug much more slowly, allowing his aches to subside before trying again.

After reapplying the lube, he gets back into position and retries. He takes his time, pressing in, and instead of the hurt he got the first time, he feels that odd fullness he’s only felt once before. He continues like that, slow and testing, for nearly ten minutes before his body is shaking and ready for more, the “odd” having adjusted to “hot.” He thinks about the way Charlie pushed into him, imagines pushing into Malfoy in the same delicious way, and  _ needs _ more.

He pushes the base of the plug flush against his hole, and he feels it. That smooth, sinful spot of pleasure inside him that makes him see stars. He feels a stinging, stretching sensation as the base tries to fold in on itself, but he can’t find it in him to care. A groan comes out heavy between his lips as the rounded tip of the plug circles around his prostate, putting pressure on every cell of the organ. “Don’t move,” Harry pleads out loud, stroking his cock short and fast. He can feel goosebumps breaking out across his skin as a fire he’s never felt before flushes through his system.

Harry’s too distracted, pushing towards his orgasm with thoughts of Malfoy watching him to notice Malfoy actually enter the room. The blond waits to draw Harry’s attention, taking a moment to watch Harry press a shiny green gem harder against his arsehole. Malfoy’s whole body shivers involuntarily, and he wishes he could take a picture, keep Harry like this forever.

As Harry’s occasional moans grow into soft, constant whimpers, Malfoy announces his presence. “Twice is a pattern, Potter,” he says, dropping his bag and robes. 

“Draco,” Harry breathes, falling onto his side. He looks at the standing man with heavy-lidded eyes, begging him to come closer. “Please.”

Afraid that his top wet dream will disappear before his eyes if he looks away, Draco crosses the room in three steps and jumps into the bed. His body slams into Harry’s. “I knew you’d look good in green,” he says smugly, running a hand down the curve of Harry’s backside.

Using the element of surprise, Harry grabs Draco and rolls them over, Harry holding him down with his body. “How did you know,” Harry pants, rubbing against Draco’s thigh as Draco works a hickey into his shoulder, “that I would even like this, you bloody pervert?”

Draco’s breath is hot and shivering against his ear. “You know what kind of places ex-Death Eaters and Company have to go to get service these days? Muggle pubs. Filthy, back-alley, middle-of-nowhere pubs that don’t ask questions and only see money.” Harry lets his forehead fall against Draco’s, their eyes fixed on each other’s every move. “The same places the Saviour of All Wizardkind would go to find out if he likes it up the duff or not, so it seems.” Draco rolls his hips against Harry, but Harry keeps him pinned to the bed. There’s nowhere to move that’s not pushing into him, taking more from Harry than he’s already giving.

The thought is almost enough to kill the mood entirely. How many Death Eaters know that Harry Potter might indulge in a bit of cock every once in a while? Probably the same amount that would sell him out to the press for two knuts. “You mean, they all know?” Harry swallows.

“No,” Draco says simply before sucking a red spot over the top of Harry’s collarbone. “The lack of gay representation in Death Eaters is tragic. And even if they did know, who would listen to them?” He licks over the discolored spot. “Besides, Death Eaters these days want nothing to do with the man that took down their leader.”

“You make that hard to believe,” Harry smirks, rolling his hips into Draco’s erection. 

“I’m an,” Draco gasps. “Exception.”

“Of course you are,” Harry scoffs. 

Draco raises an eyebrow, reaches a hand around Harry’s side and taps the plug against Harry’s hole. “Do you want me to take care of this or not?”

In response, Harry crashes their lips together. He lets Draco roll them over again so that he’s looking down on him. Draco returns his hand to Harry’s arse and circles a finger around his rim. He pulls out of the kiss and sits up. “You want me to fuck you with this?” he asks, breathless.

Harry nods eagerly. “Please, ‘was hoping you would.”

Draco grins, and tugs on the toy, pulling it out just slightly so that the widest part stretches Harry’s opening. Harry arches his back, a hand reaching up to grab Draco’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he hisses.

“You even look good when you’re in pain,” Draco shakes his head in disbelief. “Potter, I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Before the alarms can go off in Harry’s head, Draco pushes the toy back in roughly. A deep groan rumbles in Harry’s chest as it pushes into his prostate. “Draco, Merlin,” he cries, the hand on Malfoy’s shoulder now a claw. His nails dig in further as Draco begins moving the plug steadily, working up a rhythm that Harry soon finds himself falling back on, pushing onto the plug as it fucks into him.

“Touch yourself,” Draco croaks, staring hungrily at Harry’s leaking cock, curved against his abdomen, twitching on particularly hard thrusts. Harry complies immediately, his claw on Draco retracting and clutching onto himself, flying into quick, desperate strokes.

He watches Draco close his eyes and take a deep breath. He presses the heel of his hand against his tented trousers. Harry’s free hand reaches out to Draco, who slaps him away. “Don’t, I’m trying not to come,” he says, voice tight.

Heat blazes in Harry’s core. He’d gotten Draco that close without a single touch? “That’s so damn hot,” he says. “I’m close too.”

“Thank Merlin,” Draco doubles his efforts on the plug, his movements fast and direct, slamming it in at that angle he’s learned makes Harry see stars.

Harry can no longer stop the moans building in his throat. “Shit, shit,” he breathes as he peaks, riding out what he’s sure is the longest orgasm of his life. He comes over his chest fucking himself, Draco slowing the plug’s movement as he clenches around it, his body shaking as pleasure renders him senseless. Somewhere above him, he hears Draco whimper and a zipper coming undone; with a few soft grunts he’s coming as well, his load dripping off his fingers and joining the mess on Harry’s torso. Harry wants to help him, wants to rub their cocks together as they shudder through the end, but it’s all he can do to stay aware of what’s happening in front of him. Movement is the last thing on his mind as he reaches pure bliss, body flooding with endorphins as his cock spills over again and again.

Thankfully, Draco is not so indisposed. He leans down and kisses Harry again, rolling over to Harry’s side and pulling the man with him. When he pulls out the plug minutes later, throwing it to the end of the bed while muttering something about cleaning it later, Harry finally comes down, panting and boneless. Draco’s hands are everywhere, easing him out of the moment with soft touches and chaste kisses. “Alright?” Draco asks. “That looked rather intense.”

“Mhm,” Harry nods between kisses. “Sorry,” he breathes, looking down to the mess between them.

“Don’t be,” Draco responds, squeezing Harry’s side. “I hadn’t even planned on getting off, and then, well…” a dusting of light pink rises high on his cheeks. “Your face when you came?” He buries his head in Harry’s chest. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Harry likes this post-orgasm Draco. He’s caring and honest and intimate, and based on how shy he is despite everything they just did together, Harry gets the feeling that this is not a side he’s used to showing.

Harry wants more of it.

“Draco, what are we?” Harry asks as their breathing evens out. 

Draco licks a stripe up Harry’s throat, and Harry shivers. “We’re hooking up,  _ Potter, _ ” he says it like it’s obvious. The emphasis on his last name makes him wince. “Given that the only time you don’t refer to me by my surname is when I touch your prick.”

Harry grimaces and tries to look apologetic. He hasn’t even noticed it was happening, the past few times. “Old habit, I guess. I’ll stop if you want me to. Calling you Malfoy, that is.”

Draco pulls away from him and turns onto his side, facing away from Harry. His shoulders tense as he crosses his arms across his front. Is he...pouting? “Draco?” Harry tries again, sliding a hand over his hip.

The blond sighs. “I only want you to do that if you want to be friends.” he admits reluctantly.

And suddenly, it feels like they’re young again. Eleven-year-old young, as it happens. The hand extended out, expecting Harry’s to join his. The look of hurt-turned-anger as they turn back to their respective friends. The sheer drama of it all, ‘it’ being one of the most important things to happen in their eleven years, back before struggle and survival were all they had. “Aren’t we already?” he tries.

Draco turns his head so that he can give Harry an incredulous look. “I thought the jury was still out on whether I was too much of an arsehole or not. And don’t act like we don’t bicker any time we’re outside of this bedroom together.”

Harry recalls their first conversation of the school year and blushes. “I had thought the body shot was answer enough to that.”

“Then you have a lot to learn,” Draco shoots back, but the seriousness of the moment fades after Draco rolls his eyes. “Harry.” He lets the tips of a smile curve up his lips.

Harry puts a hand on Draco’s cheek and forces Draco to look at him. “Will you teach me?”

Draco rolls around to face him and hoists one of his thighs over Harry’s. “As friends. A friendly favor.” he insists.

Harry laughs and snatches Draco’s lower lip between his teeth. Draco rolls his hips against Harry’s, slow and thorough. “If we’re going to do this, though, we should probably spend time together when we’re not...you know.” he trails off lamely, looking down at their still-messy chests.

Draco rolls his eyes, but allows himself to smile. “Suppose that means I’ll have to spend time with Granger and Weaselby, too, doesn’t it?”

Harry shrugs. “You don’t have to, but it would certainly help if I didn’t have to split my time up between you.”

“I guess that would be what friends do, wouldn’t it?” Draco grumbles to himself. “Fine. It wouldn’t hurt my N.E.W.T.s to study with Granger, at least. No promises about Ron, though.”

“He’d probably say the same,” Harry concedes. This conversation has already gone better than he would have ever thought it could. “Although he is pretty great at chess. I know you used to play.”

“Still do,” Malfoy corrects. “I was on house arrest all summer, and Mother was the one who taught me to play in the first place.” His smile fades a little and he looks away from Harry. “I have missed playing since getting back here.”

“When it comes to chess, I don’t think Ron would care if you were Voldemort himself.” A secret smile grows on Harry’s face as he thinks back to first year, when his best friend did just that. “He just wants to kick your arse.”

“At least the feeling will be mutual,” Draco chuckles. “Now, how would you feel about asking a house elf to bring us a post-coital snack? I’m starving and I know they give you the best food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone got any good advice for staying motivated to write when your entire life breaks down??? i've been bingeing s.w.a.t and criminal minds for like a week and i need to...stop


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for not updating last week! writing is hard and idk what day it is at any given time
> 
> this chapter has probably my favorite harry/charlie conversation so far. enjoy!

“Listen mate, if the price of actually spending time with you again is to let Malfoy study with us, I’ll take it.” Ron says before tucking into his dinner. 

Harry looks to Hermoine, who is less enthusiastic. “As long as he’s not a git to ‘Moine,” he adds.

Harry reaches across the table to grab Hermoine’s hand. “I won’t force you to be around him if it makes you uncomfortable.” 

She looks up to him frowning, her brow furrowed in thought. “No, Ron is right,” she sighs. Ron’s eyes bulge, shifting between her and Harry as she continues. “If you think he’s really changed, I’ll believe you. Besides, I’m sure Draco is a much better study partner than you lot.”

Harry pulls his hand back and throws a piece of his roll at her at the same time Ron shouts “Oi!” and grabs at her waist. She bursts into giggles as Ron tickles her, trying to slap his hands away as he continues his attack.

“You have more faith in my brother’s restraint than I do.” Charlie shrugs when Harry mentions the rag-tag study group that evening, long after their cocoa has gone cold.

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did Ron ever mention that he came to Romania ‘round the holidays?” Harry shakes his head, but he can’t say he’s surprised. If he’d had the chance to escape the war like that for even a second, he would have, apparation sickness be damned.

“Did something happen?”

“Well, he did break half of my dishes and my coffee table in a fit. He was…” Charlie looks Harry in the eyes, face flushing. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, actually.”

“Why? Because it was about me? I already know he hated me then; wearing the horcrux really fucked him up.”

“Exactly. Tensions were much higher then than they are now. I doubt he’d do something like that again without those circumstances.” Charlie backtracks.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Charlie, what happened?” Charlie looks shaken, remembering it. The dragon tamer is usually the picture of calm, and if he reacts like this about his own brother, Harry has to know.

Charlie sighs and looks away. “He just...it was a brotherly thing, okay? I said some things I shouldn’t have and he just...he lost it. And he decked me.”

Harry’s eyes bulge. Ron knocked Charlie out? “He did what?” As much as he tries to hide it, Harry has to admit that he’s a little impressed. Charlie easily has fifty pounds of pure muscle on Ron.

He supposes that also makes it more worrisome.

Now, Charlie’s face is nearly as red as his hair. “Like I said, I was...really out of line.” Harry simply stares, waiting for him to continue. Charlie huffs. “You won’t let this go until I tell you, will you?”

Harry shrugs. “Probably not. I could always ask Ron.”

“No, don’t do that. He said he’d do it again if I ever brought it up to anyone else.” Charlie swallows, sitting up straighter. “First of all, the whole family was angry with Ron for leaving you and Hermoine. At first, Mum and Dad were happy he was safe, but after a while, even they were upset, going on about how un-Gryffindor he was being. So he left, spent a few days with Bill and Fleur, then came to Romania. By then, Ginny had sent me a very passionate and likely exaggerated letter explaining everything. So I guess you could say I wasn’t very happy with him myself.

“When he got to my house, he practically took over my living room. I don’t do well with others invading my space like that--not you,” he cuts himself off before Harry can even begin to consider the possibility. “But after two days of him moping on my couch, I wanted him gone. Then, during dinner, he started ranting about you and how he thought you were above stealing his girlfriend or something, and I just kind of...lost it.” Charlie shifts as close to the edge of the couch as he can, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching in on himself. “I told him he didn’t deserve friends like you and that you had probably realized it by now, and then he lost it too.

“I know it’s not an excuse,” Charlie continues in a small voice. “But to be fair, I’d already committed to repressing the fuck out of my feelings for you, and Ron bringing you up every two seconds did nothing but force me to confront them. It was only a matter of time before he pressed the right buttons.” Harry’s heart pounds as Charlie laughs humorlessly. “And I have to admit, after throwing a few punches and breaking a few plates, we both felt much better. He went back to you the next evening.”

Harry knows he should be focusing on literally anything else Charlie said, but his brain won’t let him move forward until he asks. “You were repressing feelings for me the whole way back in December?”

Charlie lifts his head sheepishly. “Kind of?”

Harry’s eyes grow wide. “For how long?”

Charlie sighs like a defeated man. “Since Bill’s wedding.” And then, softer: “You look so fucking fit in a suit.”

Harry remembers the night, the hours before everything went to shit. He remembers a more-than-tipsy Charlie asking him to dance, his loopy, giggling voice telling Harry he looks stunning as they wobble in circles. He remembers feeling warm and guarded in Charlie’s arms, despite the chilly evening breeze, and Charlie crumpling the back of Harry’s suit as he gripped onto it like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting go. He remembers Percy appearing at Charlie’s side at the end of the song and guiding him away to the Burrow, telling Harry to forget about them and enjoy the night. He remembers the second of relief in the chaos of escaping when he realized that Charlie was inside, safer than the rest of them, before Hermoine’s hand touched his and they disappeared into central London.

“I can’t even hold a flame to how good you looked that night, ask anyone.” Harry brushes off the compliment, thinking back Charlie’s sharp, navy suit that had to have been tailor-made and the lavender shirt matching the corsage pinned to his lapel.

“Agree to disagree,” Charlie mumbles, grabbing Harry’s hand and squeezing it softly. “Anyway,” a smile grows on his face. “Good luck with your study group. Let me know how many times Hermoine hexes them for being gits.”

“I’ll keep you updated.” Harry promises, thoughts of the wedding still swirling in his head. “I can’t believe you’ve liked me for a whole year and never said anything.” he pouts.

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “It’s not like you were the easiest to find for most of that, Undesirable Number One.” He has a point, and Harry blushes. “Besides, I rather think I’m making up for it now, aye?”

_ More than. _ “Hmm, I suppose you’ve been adequate.” Harry smirks.

“Adequate?” Charlie scoffs. “Well, lucky that I can try harder, I suppose.” He moves closer to Harry, grabbing his other hand and holding both between them. “Be my boyfriend, and I’ll give you everything.”

“Boyfriend?” Harry’s face falls before he can stop it, and the heartbreak on Charlie’s face is enough to make Harry hate himself, enough to make him want to run away from Charlie just so he never has to see it again.

Charlie drops Harry’s hands and turns away from him. “Forget I said anything. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re my student; this is wrong anyway, and we would have had to keep it a secret all year, and you deserve someone that can be proud of you in public, and--”

“Why would I want that?” Harry cuts in before Charlie can spiral into a hole too deep for Harry to pull him out of. “Charlie, of course I want to be your boyfriend, but I don’t want to promise you more than I can give.” he can feel an ache in his chest start, and holy shit, why is he doing this to one of the only people he needs these days? “ _ You _ deserve so much better than that.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Do I?”

“Of course you do. Don’t be stupid.” Harry stands and paces so he doesn’t have to look at the redhead. “Right now, I want you and I want Draco, and I’m still trying to figure out how that’s possible. All I know is that…” Harry stops moving and swallows, staring at his feet. “I care about you. And him. And you both make me feel like...like a person again. It’s been years since I’ve felt that, and I know it’s selfish of me, but I can’t let either of you go right now.” Harry has known he is broken since he found out Voldemort literally lived inside of him. It’s like Draco and Charlie are finding his missing pieces, helping him figure out how they fit back together. Perhaps one of them could deal with it alone, but two makes everything much easier for everyone.

He can’t deny that the sex is pretty great, too.

“Okay.” Charlie says simply.

“Okay?” Harry asks.

“Okay,” Charlie repeats. Harry hears the couch shift, and in seconds Charlie is in front of him, grabbing his biceps to keep him in place. “Look at me,” he whispers.

Harry does, and his stomach turns. Why does Charlie always have to make things so difficult, with his firm hands, his warmth, his understanding eyes? “Charlie,” Harry tries again. 

Lips on his stop his thoughts in their tracks. A demanding tongue slips between them and meets with Harry’s, and he can’t help but moan. 

At the sound, Charlie pulls back. He moves a hand up to cup Harry’s cheek. “Love, it took me months to realize how much I wanted to be with you. You haven’t had that. If you need time, take it.”

Harry wants to tell him he’s wrong, that Harry has been thinking about being with Charlie for just as long, if not longer--he can admit that to himself now. The problem is not uncertainty; it’s that the more time he spends with both Charlie and Draco, the more he’s absolutely positive that he wants more of both of them. Charlie is a warm blanket, soft and comforting. He keeps Harry close and gives all of himself. Draco is a feeding fire, consuming and passionate. He gives out tendrils of himself and the more Harry gives him, the more Draco gives back. In the swirling winter storm that Harry thinks of as his life, he needs both of them just to stay warm.

But what if it all gets too hot?

“You know no matter what, I’ll still be here, right?” Charlie asks. “That’s what ‘stuck with me’ means. Besides,” Charlie strokes his cheek, and his soft smile grows into a smirk. “No matter what we call ourselves, we can still fuck, if you want.”

Harry chokes on air, and Charlie laughs. “Really?” Harry asks between coughs.

In response, Charlie dives in, capturing Harry’s lips with his own. “Can I be honest?” he mumbles against Harry’s lips. Harry grunts his approval. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your arse--” Charlie grabs Harry’s arse for emphasis, forcing their hips together, “--since last week.”

Harry wraps his arms around Charlie’s shoulders, pulling him closer. As they kiss, Harry allows himself to open his eyes and sees that Charlie has already done so. His bright blue eyes have darkened, deepened, full of desire and lust and something else Harry is too nervous to look closely at. When Harry lets his eyes flutter shut again, Charlie works his lips down Harry’s chin, across his jaw, and into the hollow of his neck. Harry allows a low groan to rumble out. “If...if this is really what you-- _ ahh _ \--want, even with...everything else…” he tries. Charlie’s cool, but surely even he can’t be this cool.

“You’re what I want,” Charlie says, sure and strong, and Harry melts, heat exploding in his gut and flooding his body. “However I can get you.”

“Then take me,” Harry gasps as Charlie nips at his collarbone, unable to hold back anymore. He grabs for Charlie’s hair, and the man rises back to Harry’s lips, attacking them with revived enthusiasm as he moans. “And Charlie?”

He pulls back for just a second more. “Yeah?”

Harry reaches for Charlie’s belt and pulls it undone. “Don’t ever call our relationship wrong again.”

As Charlie leads Harry to his room, panting and stumbling and shucking their clothes along the way, Harry can’t help but think that he will never, no matter what he does, be enough to deserve even half of what Charlie gives him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can y'all tell i have a soft spot for soft boys??? i just want my boys to be HAPPY okay


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so fun fact i spent actual WEEKS writing this chap and i still can't get it right so take it easy pls

Thursday, Harry finds himself sprinting to the library fifteen minutes after he’d agreed to meet Ron, Hermoine, and Draco for their study session.

Panting and sweaty, Harry nearly runs into Draco, who is leaning against the wall outside of the library’s entrance. “Hey,” he says, breathless.

“It’s about time,” Draco scolds, closing the book he’d been reading before Harry approached.

Harry runs a hand through his hair as his breathing returns to normal. “Sorry. ‘Was talking to Hagrid and lost track of time.” His Care of Magical Creatures class is currently learning about thestrals, and Ginny, Luna, and Harry had stayed after class to help Hagrid feed them. “Why are you still waiting out here?”

Draco shrugs and ducks his head, but Harry can still see how pale his face is. “Draco, it’s going to be fine. They both promised to behave.” Harry leans against the door and it falls open. He waves Draco through and the blond rolls his eyes before passing through.

Hermoine sees them before they see the table she and Ron have procured, and her seat scrapes across the floor as she stands to wave them over. “Finally,” Hermoine sends a mock glare to Harry before smiling politely at Draco. “We’re just about to start going over the Charms book work.”

As they settle into a question-and-answer rhythm on a Charms review sheet, Draco slides close to Harry on the bench until they’re situated much like Ron and Hermoine are opposite them. Draco leans on his right hand until his fingers reach Harry’s left hand, grabbing on as they continue to take notes.

The other side of the table is none the wiser.

Harry gloats to himself that he’s gotten one over on Hermione and, emboldened, Harry closes the space between them on the bench until their thighs are touching, hands held in the dip where their trousers touch.

When both of his friends look up, Harry stares them down, practically daring them to say something. Ron blushes and stutters into the next question on the page; Hermoine rolls her eyes and pages through her notes, mumbling something about “ _ Really, _ Harry,” and “dramatic.”

None of them speak much outside of what they need to say for studying purposes. Hermoine and Draco, unsurprisingly, immerse themselves in homework and hardly look up from their parchment. Every few minutes, though, Harry will catch Ron watching them across the table, in disbelief that he’s been sitting at the same table as Draco Malfoy for the better part of an hour, and they have yet to say a single word to one another.

Harry flexes his hand against Draco’s, and the blond squeezes back before pulling away entirely. He strains to watch Draco from the corner of his eye until the slightly damp, warm hand rests on the middle of his thigh. Draco’s palm rests just below the pocket of his trousers, his long fingers stretching down to the inseam, nails pressing into the stitching and the sensitive skin below it.

Harry can’t help it; he turns his head away from the Defense essay he’s revising and toward Draco’s head. The bastard’s lips are pressed together as he fights a smile, pushing his quill so firmly against his parchment that ink bleeds through. “Tosser,” Harry breathes.

Draco allows himself a small smile and grips harder through Harry’s trousers.

While Hermoine is too engrossed in some old, ornate volume to notice the exchange, Ron welcomes the distraction, work-glazed eyes searching for anything less boring than what’s right in front of them.

“Alright?” Ron looks between them carefully, frowning at Draco’s clear amusement at the situation.

Even as Draco’s fingertips tap increasingly closer to his crotch, Harry knows that nothing looks out of sorts from across the table.

That is, until one of them breaks.

“Yeah, just bored,” Harry responds evenly before biting his lip and looking down to his parchment. He only has to write another few inches--another paragraph, at the most. Uninterrupted, he figures it won’t take him more than another half an hour of writing to complete the essay--an amount that could easily be taken care of in his next early morning study session. “I can’t look at this anymore,” he sighs, pushing his supplies to the center of the table so he can rest his head on the cool, wooden desk.

“Me neither,” Ron is quick to jump on the bandwagon, already closing his books and gathering his quill and ink. “Reckon it’s almost dinner by now, anyway.”

Hermoine rolls her eyes. “Come on, you must nearly be finished with your essay. Why not finish it now?”

Draco sighs, removes his hand from Harry to stretch toward the ceiling, his dress shirt tightening over his chest. Harry decidedly ignores his actions until he speaks up. “Hermoine, you know I hate to agree with...Ron,” he practically chokes on the name. “But we’re already missing the meal.” Somehow, the four of them hadn’t noticed the trickle of students headed to the Great Hall, but by now they are nearly the only students left among the shelves. Even Madame Pince has disappeared into her office, blinds closed as she, presumably, eats her own meal.

Wordlessly, Hermoine casts the Tempus charm. Her eyes widen when she sees that Draco is right; the rest of the school is likely halfway through dinner by now. “Oh, how did that happen? I guess I just lost myself in my research again.”

“It’s a good thing your ‘focused’ face is so cute,” Ron teases, and she blushes. “Now, let’s go before they stop serving the meal.”

Draco catches Harry’s eye as the foursome packs up silently. Slowly, he presses his tongue into his right cheek, poking it out and raising his eyebrows as he lowers it down for a second before pressing forward again. It takes Harry so long to understand what he’s trying to say that Draco practically gives up before realization strikes Harry’s eyes.

They make it into the hallway before Harry speaks up. “Er, I need to run back to the room for a second.”

“What? Why?” Ron whines at the thought of missing even another second of dinner.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Harry promises.

“Sure you will,” Hermoine purses her lips and rolls her eyes.

“You can go ahead if you’d like.”

Beside him, Draco steps up next to him and grabs his hand, face flaming. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get lost. I need to return to the dormitory before dinner as well.”

Hermione’s penetrating glare makes Harry feel absolutely transparent, and he can tell Draco feels exactly the same when she turns her gaze on him. “Brilliant,” she says flatly. She reminds Harry of Molly in that moment--reminds Harry of a mother. “We’ll save you a plate, okay?”

Harry nods and wagers a smile. He feels like he’s been found out and is still getting away with it. “Cheers,” he says.

Ron gives him an encouraging, if slightly nervous, thumbs up before following Hermoine to the Great Hall.

They barely round the corner towards the stairwell before Harry is slammed against the cold castle wall, warm, firm lips forcing his open. Their bags clatter to the ground and echo, but Harry hardly has time to worry about that before Draco smashes their mouths together. “Wha- _ hmph _ ,” Harry’s grunt is cut off as Draco overwhelms him.

“I didn’t want to wait until tonight,” Draco whispers against Harry’s lips. His hands are everywhere, running under his robes and holding him close by the neck. He presses his body into Harry’s, sandwiching him between hot and cold.

Harry uses his strength to switch their positions, capturing Draco between his hips and the stone wall. He pulls back just enough to speak clearly. “Wait until tonight for what?” he pants.

“To get your cock in my mouth,” Draco says simply.

Harry gapes, and Draco takes the opportunity to dive forward and force their tongues together. They fight each other, pushing and twisting until Harry leans his full weight against Draco and forces him to be dominated. “And you want to do that...here?” he swallows.

Draco watches Harry, looks at the way his pupils dilate with anxiety the longer it takes him to answer. Draco hides a smirk; it’s always been so easy to fuck with Potter, and if there’s one thing the war didn’t change about him (surprisingly), it’s his gullibility.

As much as he’s inclined to agree with Harry’s apprehension--the hallway they’re in is entirely too public. Professors and students are constantly running through it, and it’s a miracle no one has caught them yet--he can’t help but prolong his answer for as long as humanly possible. “Prefect’s bathroom?” he suggests only after sensing Harry’s patience beginning to wane.

Draco laughs breathlessly as Harry pulls him down the hall, strides long and impatient. “Someone’s randy,” he teases. “Tell me, Potter, have you been thinking about me?”

Harry stops so suddenly that Draco trips over him. “Yes,” he breathes. As a matter of fact, he can’t stop thinking about Draco. He can’t stop thinking about blond hair between his thighs, a pale body writhing under him as he teases and touches and takes what he wants until Draco can’t possibly give him more.

However, he also can’t stop thinking about tattoos on biceps,  _ being _ the slender frame that falls apart under a certain ginger’s ministrations. And telling Draco only part of the truth in this makes his stomach twist.

“And?” Draco prods.

“Are we...whatever this is...do you think it’s serious?” Harry stutters.

Draco’s face goes blank and he takes a step back; Harry can see the Malfoy mask overtake his features one by one. “You want to be my boyfriend? Or what?” he asks, something sharp in his voice that Harry hasn’t heard in months.

“No,” Harry says quickly. “I mean...not now, at least. I guess I was just wondering, um, how you felt about…” Never, not even when his life depended on it, has Harry wanted to understand legilimency more than in this second. Draco has spent his entire life learning how to only show the emotions he deems safe enough to share, and Harry, despite all his efforts to see through his mask, is utterly lost when he does this. Maybe they’re friends now, but Harry has no doubt that the wrong words in this moment might destroy everything they’ve built this year. “How would you feel if I were  _ talking _ to someone else?”

Draco bites his lip and looks at the wall to the right of Harry’s face. “I suppose it doesn’t bother me much,” he swallows finally. “Just don’t talk to me about it and don’t ask me for a threesome. I’m not big on sharing.” 

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be,” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Good. Now Potter?” Draco pulls Harry towards their destination by the wrist. “Stop talking.”

When they enter the Great Hall fifteen minutes later, Luna is the first to see them. She gives them a look that tells Harry they look like they were doing exactly what they were doing. As they depart to their separate tables, Harry allows himself to glance at the head table. Thank Merlin Hagrid has Charlie engrossed in conversation, and Bill is absent from dinner altogether.

Harry approaches his friends with his head down, attempting to hide the sated flush on his cheeks from as many of them as possible.When he finds his lukewarm plate, though, he looks up just in time to see Hermoine grudgingly press a sickle into Ron’s waiting hand.

Ron chuckles when he sees Harry’s raised eyebrow. “She bet that you wouldn’t make it down here before they put out dessert, and I bet you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.”

As if upon hearing Ron’s mention, the near-empty platters of dinner disappear to make room for pudding and biscuits. Hermoine groans and lets her head fall against the table as Harry and Ron laugh.

Throughout his eighteen years as a Supremely Unlucky Wizard, Harry has gathered a handful of pleasures he refuses to deny himself: a long fly on windy autumn days, oven-fresh treacle tart, sleeping in on Saturdays, and more recently, kissing Charlie Weasley.

So, when it’s Charlie instead of his nightmares that rattle him awake at 5 a.m. Saturday morning, he has mixed feelings.

“What the hell?” he groans at the ginger leaning over him, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Shh!” Charlie throws his pointer finger over Harry’s lips and looks over his shoulder to the other beds.The curtains stay still, and he sighs. “Don’t you dare get me caught. Get dressed; wear something you don’t mind getting dirty. Bring your coat and meet me at my office in twenty minutes.” His eyes flicker around the room again before he pecks Harry’s cheek. “We’re going out this morning. And don’t worry, I’ll have you back before you’re supposed to head to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermoine.”

He pulls a familiar blanket over his head and disappears. “Hey! That’s mine,” Harry pouts.

“Guess you’ll have to come get it then, won’t you?” Charlie’s disembodied voice fades as he walks closer to the door. Slowly and nearly silently, it opens and closes, and Harry is left shivering in the castle’s morning draft.

Charlie is bouncing on his toes by the time Harry makes it to his office, and before Charlie can say anything, Harry realizes there’s only one thing that could make the dragon tamer this happy. “Where’s the portkey?” Harry asks, and Charlie’s grin grows as he pulls out a child’s stuffed animal.

Harry vomits again when they crash into the field just outside the Wales Dragon Reserve.

The first thing he realizes when he can look upright again is that Charlie is many feet away from him and appears to be wrestling another man on the ground. “Charlie?” Harry calls cautiously, wand sliding down his sleeve and into his hand.

Both men are laughing when they sit up. It’s O’Malley, Harry thinks. Same shoulder-length hazel curls, same burly salt-and-pepper bead he holds when he laughs. “Good to see ya, too, Harry! Charlie here was just taking me out, portkey style.”

“I told you, I fell!” Charlie protests, punching his shoulder.

O’Malley waves at hand at him. “No matter. We better get movin’ if you want to see that sunrise!”

Once they disentangle, Charlie stands and pulls a potion vial and a container of mints out of his pocket. “Stomach soothing draught?” he offers.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “You just keep these around?”

Charlie shrugs, smile still beaming right at him. “I had a hunch you were a bad traveller.”

Harry is still for a second, his half-asleep brain unsure of how to react. How much would Charlie have to know him to get that? “Oh,” he says, taking and downing the potion before chasing it with a few mints. “Thanks.” he smiles.

“Are you boys coming?” O’Malley calls, already at the end of the field. The boys look at each other wide-eyed before running to catch up. 

Despite the early hour, the reserve is teeming with activity. As they enter the front gates, a flurry of tall, broad-shouldered wizards pass them, a few shouting apologies when they nearly run into O’Malley. They file into the first building on the right, which Harry remembers as the hatchery. He turns to Charlie and raises an eyebrow; the man is grinning like a fiend.

“O’Malley,” Charlie speaks up.

“Call me Adam,” he interrupts.

Charlie nods. “Adam, then--is it a hatching day?”

Adam’s smile matches Charlie’s as he nods. “Our medical team just confirmed it last night. Ironbelly hatchings are notoriously hard to predict.”

Charlie’s eyebrows rise into his hairline. “You got your hands on an Ironbelly egg?”

Adam smirks and holds up two fingers, his hand practically trembling with excitement. “In this line of work, sometimes it pays to have friends in low places.”

“Agreed,” Charlie laughs.

The two launch into a discussion on the surprisingly large underground dragon market in Knockturn Alley, and Harry trails behind them, taking in as much of the reserve as he can. Last time, he’d had a one-track mind, focusing on seeing the dragons and nothing else. Now, Harry takes a chance to appreciate the set up.

Across from the enclosures for the hatchery and younglings, a small village of tents huddle near the entrance. From what Charlie has explained about the reserve in Romania, they tend to keep the living quarters for dragon handlers as far from the dragons as possible to prevent territory disputes and keep the few families with children on the reserve as safe as possible. Beside the tents is a large field set up as a makeshift quidditch pitch and a long, rectangular building. As they pass by, Harry gets a whiff of something meaty and spicy, leading him to label the building as the dining hall. The final building they pass before reaching the cliffs is large and pristine white; there’s nothing it could be but a hospital.

“And here we are: the best place on the planet to watch the sun rise.” Adam proclaims proudly as they reach the edge of the reserve, where the cliffs dive off into the oasis below.

“I can’t believe there’s not a rail or anything to keep people from falling off.” Harry muses.

“We have wards in place to stop the young and the reckless,” Adam winks. “Children can’t get within ten feet of the edge; same with drunks and such.”

“With all the protective charms put in place on a reserve, they’re actually much safer than most would assume,” Charlie adds, and Adam nods fervently.

“I think your mother would disagree,” Harry teases, and Charlie elbows him in the side in retaliation.

“Well, I best be off, then. Hatching days are always a mess around here.” Adam says. “Oh! I nearly forgot,” he reaches into the pocket of his trousers and pulls out a thick, shrunken folder. He waves his hand over the top and it grows into the size of a textbook. “The reason you came out here in the first place.”

Charlie retrieves the folder from his extended hands, opens it and skims the first pages. “That’s it, then?”

Adam nods. “Yeah, mate. Just give the numbers a look and let me know what you think. Told you I could have sent it by post.” A mischievous smile grows on his face as his eyes lock on Harry. “But  _ no _ , you insisted on coming back and bringing  _ Harry _ here.” he says in singsong.

Charlie’s cheeks go bright red--Harry can tell even in the low light of the morning. “Right, right, I think we’ve got in from here, then.” Pale pink sunlight is beginning to peek past the valleys of the mountains that bracket the reserve. Harry can already tell it’s the start of one of the most beautiful sunrises he’ll ever see.

As Charlie chases off Adam, Harry sits on a patch of grass just off the cliffs’ edge. It’s still early enough that the oasis below is nearly empty, and Harry doesn’t want to miss a second of watching the world in front of him come to life.

“What’s that about?” Harry asks as Charlie rejoins him, re-shrinking the folder and stuffing it into his pocket.

“Just some financials. The reserve is looking to expand and they have to prove to the Ministry that the money will be worth it. We did the same thing in Romania a few years back, and he wanted someone to look over it that has already been through the process.” Charlie explains.

“You think they’ll get the money?”

Charlie shrugs. “Dunno, I haven’t looked yet. I imagine the ministry will tell them to ask again next year, given they’re still rebuilding from the war. I know Gringotts especially was demanding compensation.”

Harry’s stomach twists in the same way it always does when he hears mention of the war. “Right. Guess that’s partially my fault.”

Charlie barks out a laugh. “Trust me, no one here would believe that. You freed an abused dragon--that’s way more important than a few extra acres to any dragon handler worth their weight.” he claps Harry on the shoulder. “Seriously. Don’t even think about feeling bad about that. Personally, I blame capitalism.”

As the sky fades from purple to pink to orange and yellow, the rest of the reserve appears to awaken with the sun. “Look!” Charlie points down every few minutes as the dragons emerge from their slumber in the caves and caveats at the base of the cliffs.

“Here come the Portugese Long-Snouts,” Harry points out to a group of green and orange dragons leaving a cave just under where they’re sitting.

Charlie looks at him, surprise raising his eyebrows. “You remember them?”

“Despite what you think of me as a student, I do listen to you outside of class.” Harry sticks his tongue out, and Charlie smiles. He reaches his hand over to Harry’s and squeezes it once before settling them in between the two. There’s something oddly domestic about the way Charlie’s acting, Harry thinks. Maybe it’s just the loving look in his eyes when he focuses on Harry, the way they tease each other like they’ve been together for years.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that Charlie took him to fucking  _ Wales _ to see a sunrise.

(Not that it’s not worth it--Harry can’t deny Adam’s claim that the cliffs are the best place on the planet to watch the sunrise. It’s perfectly clear and the sun rises symmetrically over the oasis. If Harry were a photographer, he might never leave this spot.)

The pair of Opaleyes are the last of the dragons to come out, slinking towards the pond with sleepy steps. Harry tightens his grip on Charlie’s hand. “Charlie, is this a date?”

Charlie shrugs, stares intently into the clearing. “Do...do you want it to be?”

Even though Charlie was the one who pulled him out of bed this morning with absolutely no warning, Harry can’t help but think that by going along with this, he’s leading Charlie on. “That’s not important.” he says softly. “You either brought me here with the intention of it being a date or not. Which is it?” Harry knows the answer before he’s even asked the question--as far as he knows, Charlie went through the trouble of organizing a portkey to bring him out here to watch a  _ sunrise _ \--but he has to hear it in Charlie’s own words.

“People can still go on dates if they aren’t together,” is his answer. 

Harry turns to face him full on. “Can they, now?”

Charlie braces himself, moves closer to Harry. “Why not?” With his free hand, he runs his fingers down the side of Harry’s face, brushing the tips of his hair, patches of stubble, the soft skin of his cheek. Charlie’s wearing a smirk that makes Harry think he’s won the battle before he can say anything against the man.

Harry concedes gracefully, smiling softly and laying back against Charlie’s chest. “Fine,” he says simply. Charlie chuckles and disentangles their hands so he can wrap his arms around Harry’s waist.

“Did you know that dragons are polyamorous?” Charlie asks it out of nowhere after nearly ten minutes of peace and quiet, the sun rising above the horizon in a graceful arc.

Harry looks away from the group of Fireballs. Charlie watches his face carefully, waiting for a reaction. “Charlie, what the fuck are you on about?”

“Pol-y-am-or-ous,” he repeats slowly, letting the word stretch between them. “You ever heard of it?” He continues when Harry shakes his head. “It means they take more than one mate at a time. They have multiple relationships.”

Of all the situations Harry’s found himself in the past eighteen years, he’s never felt more speechless than now. “I-What?” he protests.

“I just thought it was interesting. No one really talks about it because of the stupid stigma humans have against non-monogamy. I mean, even dragon handlers don’t mention it too much. Younglings are generally raised by the pack, anyways, so there’s less focus on parents and the couple and more on the child. We really should talk about it more often because really, the general public is terribly uneducated on dragons and dragonian culture and--I’m ranting, aren’t I?”

Harry nods slowly. What even is there to say? What’s the right way to respond to your maybe fuck buddy informing you that being a mate with more than one partner isn’t unheard of?

“Anyways,” Charlie continues. “You just seem to be curious about dragons, and you know I love to share my knowledge on the subject. I just wanted you to know.”

“What about the Opaleyes?” Harry asks. “You said the two here have been mates forever.”

Charlie nods. “You’re right; just because they can have more than one relationship doesn’t mean they always do. And besides, these particular dragons have been known to...seek other partners, on occasion.” As he speaks, the Opaleyes approach the pack of Long-Snouts, who expand their circle immediately. Harry watches wide-eyed as one Opaleye nuzzles the closest Long-Snouts and the other breaks into play fighting with the rest of the group.

Harry is grasping for straws as he tries to understand, and the only word that comes out of his mouth is a warbled “why?”

Charlie hums and runs his hands down Harry’s sides. “I don’t know that there’s one straight answer. Maybe they just have different needs that are met by different mates. At least, that’s how I like to think of it.” he lowers his head to Harry’s shoulder and kisses him through the t-shirt.

The longer the sun rises in silence, the more Harry allows his mind to race.  _ How does it work, then? Three people--no, three  _ dragons _. Are they all with each other, or do they have separate relationships? And then do they see others outside of the relationship? Is that cheating? What if one of them feels left out? _

“Charlie, Harry!” Adam’s voice echoes over the reserve as he runs toward them, hands waving above his head. “Come on, now! It’s time,” he gasps, turning back as soon as the words are out of his mouth and running the way he came.

Every question flies out of his head the second things move into motion.

“It’s time!” Charlie repeats, pulling Harry up before he can even get his feet under him. The intense air of a moment ago is gone, forced away by the excitement radiating off of Charlie.

He practically drags Harry half the way to the hatchery. It’s barely eight in the morning and Harry already has far too much on his mind to worry about something as inane as running. “Come on, Harry! You wouldn’t let an old man beat you, would you?” Charlie goads.

And it works. Almost immediately, Harry pulls his arm out of Charlie’s grasp and surges forward, smiling as he shoes pound against the earth, leaving Charlie’s taunts behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but anyways i'm pretty excited about everything that comes next!!!


	14. Chapter 14

Over the next few weeks, Harry falls into a schedule: go to class, do homework with some combination of Ron, Hermoine, and Draco, eat dinner, have cocoa with Charlie, and return to his room to a.) play chess with Ron, b.) watch Ron decimate Draco in chess, or c.) sneak off with Draco while Ron sneaks off with Hermoine.

He knows for a fact that he’s never taken more showers in his life.

As little time as he spends sleeping these days, the rest he does get is better than any night he’s had in months. He’s so exhausted, physically and socially, that falling asleep is almost too easy, and often, he finds himself sleeping up until his alarm forces him awake.

The near-constant comforting presence in bed with him is helpful too, he imagines. Whether it’s Draco or Charlie spooning him to sleep, he feels fully loved and cared for in a way he’s only experienced once before.

Harry and Hermoine have exactly one secret they will never tell Ron: every night during the time he was gone while they were on the run, they slept in the same bed. The first night, Hermoine’s cries were too much for Harry to listen to. He did it without even thinking, getting out of his bed and going to her, murmuring for her to move over and then pulling her close. The next night, Harry had a vision that left him pacing, spiralling as he tried to piece together something, anything. That time, it had been Hermoine, half-asleep, that waved him over and lifted her cover for him to crawl under, mumbling that they would talk about it in the morning. The third night, Hermoine preemptively invited him over, and after that it just became habit, same as sleeping with their wands and listening for snatchers.

Hermoine admitted sometime in the middle of the whole thing that she thought Harry was touch-starved. She’d wanted to tell him about the term months before when she read it in some muggle magazine in her parents’ waiting room, but she couldn’t figure out how to bring it up.

And Hermoine, well. Hermoine was missing a man she wasn’t even sure she had and if her focusing on Harry’s problems helped her forget about her own, he was happy to oblige. Not to mention they felt better rested and stronger than they had for weeks.

Now, sleeping with people he’s actually physically intimate with, he feels sated in an entirely new way. With Hermoine, there had always been that underlying itch of anxiety, the desire for something more and the fear that he would never get the chance to have it. Having sex with Draco or Charlie is soothing, no matter how rough and weird it gets. After, when he snuggles in close and their arms twist around him, he feels at peace with the world, usually until it lulls him to sleep.

“You look well, my boy.” Dumbledore’s portrait compliments Harry after nearly two weeks of his altered schedule.

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry says stiffly.

“I suppose things have worked out, as I said?” There’s a soft twinkle in his eyes, and Harry’s heart skips a beat. He looks at Dumbledore closely, trying to discern exactly what the man thinks he knows.

“‘Suppose they have,” Harry nods, then swallows. A few days ago, Charlie finally came round to asking Harry about Dumbledore again. Aside from hearing about his gay love with Grindlewald, Harry hadn’t spoken to him since the night of his panic attack. Upon hearing that, Charlie had nearly insisted Harry confront Dumbledore.

He hadn’t really planned on acting on it, but now he’s here and the words are spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Sir, I wanted to apologize for that night I yelled at yo--”

Dumbledore holds a hand up to stop him, and Harry pauses mid-word. “Don’t apologize, Harry.” His mouth curls up in a bittersweet smile, and he sighs. “It’s me who should be apologizing to you.” His eyes flicker around the empty hallway, and he leans in close. “As a portrait, I can’t speak to your specific history, but I do know this: Dumbledore cared for you a great deal, and it destroyed him inside to hurt you. Whatever it is he did, he really was sorry.”

Harry allows himself a small smile and nods rigidly--he’s afraid if he doesn’t smile, he’ll start crying. “Thank you...sir. Felix Felicis.” he says, and “Dumbledore” grants him entry.

As soon as Harry enters the common room, he knows what kind of night it’s going to be. Malfoy is alone on a couch near the fireplace, his satchel on his lap and an open book on top. His foot taps rapidly on the ground and the second Harry is through the door, Draco’s eyes are on him. He blinks rapidly, praying his eyes don’t look shiny enough for Draco to get suspicious.

Draco slams his book shut so loudly that half the room watches him stand and stalk over to Harry. “Come with me, Potter,” he snaps between clenched teeth, grabbing Harry by the front of his robes and pulling him back out of the room.

“I’m guessing Hermoine and Ron have taken over the room?” Harry coughs out a chuckle as he lets Draco drag him through the castle halls.

Draco fakes gagging. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

He leads them down an old hallway that Harry hasn’t had reason to go down in years. It’s cold and dank and Harry is ninety percent certain this is one of the few locations in the castle prohibited to students, one of the few places still tainted with dark magic from the battle. Harry can feel the traces in his bones, cringing at his presence. “What are we doing down here?” Harry whispers. Usually when they were banished from their room, they found an abandoned bathroom. But judging by the way Draco has stopped them in the middle of the hallway, looking around anxiously, tonight is going to be different.

Draco’s demeanor relaxes as he releases his grip on Harry’s robes. He steps backward, hips swaying, until his back is against the wall. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asks with a smirk, a hand running down the center of his torso until it rests on his bulge.

Now, Harry takes his own nervous glance down the open corridor. “Here?”

Draco scoffs. “Are you scared, Potter?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but approaches Draco nonetheless. “Forgive me for hoping to keep my private bits, well, private.” He rests a hand on the wall above Draco’s shoulder and leans into it.

Draco shifts and removes his satchel. “Won’t be a problem,” he opens the bag and pulls out Harry’s invisibility cloak. “I’ve thought of everything, see.”

Harry glares. “Haven’t we talked about you going through my things?”

“All for a good cause.” Draco hums, dropping the cloak off to the side and pulling him closer.

“That’s irrelevant.” Harry snaps, hips pressing Draco into the wall.

“Then maybe…” Draco leans his head forward until their faces are barely an inch apart. “You’ll have to punish me. So I remember next time.”

He rolls his hips, and Harry stops holding back. He bites Draco’s lower lip and the blond moans into his mouth. Draco slides his hands into Harry’s robes and around his back, grabbing his arse so he can get the perfect level of friction through their trousers. “Maybe I should,” he groans before grabbing Draco by the hips and turning him around. “Take off your belt and undo your trousers,” he commands quietly. The blond is quick to listen with trembling fingers and stuttering breath, and as his belt buckle clinks on the ground beside them, Harry pulls down his trousers and pants, leaving Draco exposed. “Is this what you wanted?” Harry asks lightly, trailing his fingers over Draco’s arse.

Draco braces his arms on the wall and pushes his backside out toward Harry. “Do your worst.” he taunts.

The first smack echoes down the corridor, followed closely by Draco’s heavy gasp. “Harder,” he urges, pushing his arse out further.

“Shut up,” Harry hisses, but obliges. Watching red bloom over Draco’s pale cheeks has him growing harder by the second. “You aren’t supposed to like punishment.”

For a moment, the only sounds in the hallway are the collision of Harry’s stinging hand on Draco’s bare arse and the ensuing increasingly deep inhale of Draco’s reaction. Harry counts out an even ten slaps before he rests both hands on Draco’s arse cheeks, pushing them apart until he can see the tiny pucker in between. “Now what?” Harry asks, kneeling.

Realizing his “punishment” is over, Draco moans, letting his forehead rest on the wall. “Fuck me, Harry.”

Harry licks a stripe over his hole and Draco keens, throwing a hand over his own mouth to keep the high-pitched noise from waking the entire castle. “If you want to continue this here, you’re going to have to be a lot quieter.” he whispers before diving back in, ignoring his own straining arousal like a pro.

Draco nods quickly, keeping his hand taut over his mouth as Harry’s tongue presses into him. Harry’s hands wrap around Draco’s thighs and dig into them harshly. He revels in the feel of Draco shivering in his arms. It warms his body like electricity.

Harry stays in place until his tongue is tired. “Draco, did you really think of everything?”

He can’t see Draco’s face, but he can hear the smirk in his voice. “Check my bag.”

Inside is a number of condoms and a travel-sized bottle of lube. “Big plans for the evening?” Harry raises an eyebrow. Didn’t Charlie say condoms were a muggle invention? Draco stands up straighter and his trousers slide down past his knees. 

“Variety is the spice of life, darling.”

Despite the months they’ve been seeing each other like this, it had only been recently that they started really fucking. Before that, it had been mostly blowjobs and some rimming (and one entirely unforgettable night where Harry fingered Draco to the edge three times before letting him sleep). However, now that they’d started, there was this near-constant  _ need _ that they could never shake without each other.

As Harry works him open finger by finger, Draco’s hand returns to covering his mouth while he moans into it. “I wish we were in my bed so I could hear you moaning my name,” Harry whispers against Draco’s ear. “The sounds you make get me so hard, especially when I’m stretching you open.”

“Your cock in my arse is what gets me hard, so get on with it,” Draco quickly realizes it’s hard to sound unbothered when you feel as good as he does.

Harry feels his length twitch again, and he finally,  _ finally _ releases it from its confines and gives it a few tugs. “Put your arms on the wall again,” Harry says as he rolls on a condom and coats himself in lube.

Draco obliges with no lip--a sure sign that his patience is wearing thin and he just wants Harry to fuck him.

_ Now. _

Using the hand with lubricant still on it, Harry reaches around and grabs Draco’s cock as he slides in. As soon as he pushes the head past Draco’s rim, he hears a whining in the blond’s throat. Harry clamps his free hand over Draco’s mouth right as a high-pitched moan works its way past his lips, and doesn’t dare to move it until he’s fully seated inside Draco. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Harry asks, squeezing his jaw before moving his hand away.

“Not when you feel like this inside me.” Draco shakes his head and sighs happily, like he couldn’t care less if the entire castle were to walk past them. “Now move, Potter.” he goads.

And move he does: long, slow, hard thrusts with so much force behind them it’s a workout for Draco to keep them from falling face-first into the wall. Harry’s good at keeping a rhythm, Draco’s learning. And he doesn’t like it when he comes before Draco, which is why he takes it slow. A rhythm that’s too slow to push him over the edge, but is rough enough to be exactly what Draco needs to come apart stitch by stitch.

Draco nearly screams when Harry hits his prostate, and Harry picks up the pace just a little as he begins stroking Draco more firmly. He starts making soft humming noises with every thrust forward, which is how Draco knows he’s getting close. Harry’s a much quieter lover than Draco would have expected, focused entirely on his task--the dirty talk, he practically had to drag out of Harry at first--but it makes every noise he pulls out of the man that much more rewarding. “Touch yourself,” Harry gasps as his hips stutter. His hand exchanges place with Draco’s on the wall, and all of his attention goes to slamming into Draco, tight and fast.

Draco’s hand flies over his cock, and he clenches around Harry as he hurtles closer to the edge. He bites his lip and his entire body tenses as he tries to keep from coming. This moment is too good to let die without a fight.

“Please tell me you’re close,” Harry says not a minute later. Draco turns his head to see sweat rolling down Harry’s neck, damp hair sticking to his forehead. His movements become more contained as he waits for an answer, staving off his own ending as much as he can.

“Yeah. I’m--” Harry presses hard against his prostate and stays there, barely rolling his hips just for some sort of friction, and Draco shudders as his own orgasm cuts off his dialogue. “Yes, Harry.” he hisses, shooting onto the wall.

“God,” Harry’s forehead drops against Draco’s shoulder and he thrusts forward three more times before he bites into the slope of Draco’s neck and comes. His groan rumbles through Draco’s body, going straight to his groin as an aftershock leaves him boneless.

“See, we didn’t even need it.” Draco says smugly as soon as he can breathe again, looking over to where his bag and the invisibility cloak lay beside them.

Harry rolls his eyes, pulling out slowly and removing the condom. “How did you find this place?” he pants.

“Blaise hooked up with some Hufflepuff sixth year, and they met here. Then he showed me last year,” the flush on Draco’s face deepens, and he pulls away from Harry’s embrace to do up his trousers. “Even before the war, this place was abandoned. Old classrooms and storage and whatnot. Even Filch doesn’t think to check down here anymore.”

They clean up in silence, and as Draco pulls a small mirror out of the front pocket of his satchel to fix his hair, Harry slides down the (spell-cleaned) wall until he’s seated on the ground.

“Don’t tell me I’ve exhausted you, Potter,” Draco teases without looking away from his mirror.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy.” Perhaps it was one of the better orgasms he’s had recently, but there’s no way he can mention that out loud.

“Of course not, that’s your job.” Draco shoves his mirror away and extends a hand down to Harry. “Come on. If Ron and Hermoine aren’t done by now, they deserve to get caught.”

Harry takes his hand and pulls himself up. When he’s standing upright, Draco takes a step toward him and presses a kiss on his lips. Draco’s free hand comes up to Harry’s cheek, thumb brushing across the underside of his eye. It’s warm and comforting and Harry can’t bring himself to pull away, Draco’s tongue tracing his upper lip. He pulls at the hair at the nape of Draco’s neck and he sighs softly, a small whine that makes Harry press himself into Draco’s torso, getting as close as he possibly can.

Draco is careful when he breaks the kiss to not move any other part of their bodies. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry,” he smiles, biting his lower lip.

Harry is so used to Draco’s signature smirk that the genuine happiness takes a moment to register. When it does, he has to kiss Draco again before he answers. “I hope not.”

Eventually, they pull apart to make their way back to the dorm, but Draco refuses to let go of Harry’s hand. “Does...do you want to be together or something?”

The shock stops Draco in his tracks, and a surprised laugh escapes his lips. “Sorry.” He blushes, throwing a hand over his mouth until he can settle himself. “Are...are you asking me?”

Now, Harry joins in his embarrassment. “Oh, Merlin, no. I just want to know where we stand.”

“Right, okay.” He starts walking again, staring intently at the ground in front of him, lost in thought. Harry allows himself to be pulled around corners and up the stairs; every few seconds he hears the rumble of Draco’s voice as he mumbles to himself, and he thinks better of asking the blond what he’s saying.

Just before they reach the common room, Draco stops them again. “I don’t know,” he says, frowning. “I don’t know what we are. Any ideas?”

Harry shrugs. Does he know what he wants? Kind of. Is he ready to have this conversation tonight? Absolutely not. Damn his stupid brain and his stupid mouth for not thinking this through.

Draco raises an eyebrow as he watches Harry contemplate. “Spit it out, Harry.” he says eventually.

He lets out a long breath before speaking. “I like spending time with you, a lot. You’ve become rather important to me, actually. But I’m not sure I’m ready to put an exclusive label on us.”

For a split second, Draco narrows his eyes, and Harry feels like he’s staring right through him. For that split second, Harry’s sure that he’s about to get slapped and that will be the end of them because he’s said the wrong thing and fucked things up again.

Then, Draco’s eyes soften. “Alright,” he says, squeezing Harry’s hand. “And for the record, I already knew I was the most important thing in your life, but it’s nice to hear the reminder.”

Harry scoffs and squeezes him back. “Come on, you prick. I’m tired.”

When they finally reach their bedroom, Ron is snoring. “Good, I don’t need his bullying tonight,” Draco sighs.

“Oh, what, you mean the stupid jokes he makes whenever he knows we’ve shagged? The ones more often than not at  _ my _ expense?” Over the past weeks of spending enough time to actually consider one another friends, Ron and Draco’s family feud had faded into something kinder, something meant to annoy rather than outright hurt. There was still a tension, though, as they found a line to walk. At those times, often the thing they bonded over was, well, teasing Harry.

“Funny, that’s not how I remember it,” he pouts, fighting laughter.

Harry grins and rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should get some sleep, remember it better in the morning, yeah?”

“Hmm, only because that’s what I was already planning to do.” Draco smiles into their goodnight kiss, and with that feeling on Harry’s lips, not even his nightmares can bring him down.

The next day at lunch, Harry swears Susan Bones and Tracy Davis--one of the better couples that had emerged from the war, in his opinion--blush and study their food when they see him enter.

He doesn’t think much of it until they react the same way when Draco enters, smirking and strutting with the slightest limp.

“I should probably go to bed soon,” Harry wraps his arms around Charlie’s waist as he rinses out their cocoa mugs and sets them in the kitchen sink. “I’ve got to finish packing tomorrow morning.” 

Charlie turns to face him, eyebrows scrunched together and bottom lip pushed out. “What’s wrong?” Harry laughs at the exaggerated pout.

“You know we’ll have to be even more careful at home than we are here, right?” The 3-week holiday break technically starts tonight, but a number of students and faculty--including Harry, Hermoine, and the Weasleys--were spending an extra night in the castle before leaving for home the next day. Charlie has been becoming increasingly nervous over it for the past month, mostly because he’s considering coming out to his parents over the break. “Especially if I do tell them. I don’t know how they’ll feel about...me...but I reckon they surely won’t like us.”

Harry threads his hands together behind Charlie’s back. Eyes closed, he smiles and nods, humming his assent against Charlie’s chest. “Well good job then that your parents sleep on the first floor and your room’s on the fifth.” He presses his lips against Charlie’s slowly, letting the man grab his face and keep him close for as long as he wants. When they part, Harry rests his head against Charlie’s shoulder. “What we’ll really have to worry about is Ron.”

Charlie groans. They’ve been spoiled, really. The size of the castle and the reliable privacy of closed bed curtains and a good silencing charm made it easy for them to sneak around Harry’s best friend and favorite roommate. Over the holiday, they’d be back to sharing a room sans curtains and a house where everyone lived on top of everyone.

As much as they both love the Burrow, it’s not ideal for some things, particularly secret late-night rendezvous with your best friend and favorite roommate’s older brother.

“It’ll be okay, Char.” Harry kisses him again and steps backward, leading them into the living room. “If not, we’ll sneak off to Grimmauld and hide out the rest of break.” Harry leans in again, and Charlie bites at his lower lip as he guides them toward the couch.

“Hmm, I like that plan.” Charlie replies between kisses. Harry backs into the armrest and sits. “In fact, why don’t we just do that in the first place?”

Harry laughs into the kiss and slides further onto the armrest. He releases his hold on Charlie’s waist and wraps one arm around his neck, pulling Charlie down to his level and deepening the kiss.

Glass shattering on the floor shocks them apart, Charlie visibly jumping as he pushes Harry into the couch and trips over his own feet backing away. Their heads swivel to the entrance to Charlie’s quarters at the same breakneck speed. 

Through his open office door is Draco fucking Malfoy, wand out in one hand and folded parchment in the other.

“Sorry,  _ Professor _ Weasley.” Draco says slowly. He waves his wand and the destroyed pencil jar restores itself, settling back in its position at the edge of Charlie’s desk.

Harry has never seen Charlie stand so tall, his back rigid and shoulders tense. “Mr. Malfoy,” Charlie says, crossing into his office. He takes position on the other side of the desk, sighing as he leans his hands on it. “I can expl--”

“I’ve a note for you,” Draco cuts him off, thrusting the note forward. “From the Headmistress.”

“You can leave it on the desk.” Harry’s never heard Charlie’s voice tremble like that--out of fear. “Then perhaps you’d like to sit and we can talk ab--”

“I have to be getting to bed, sir. I’m leaving early tomorrow morning.” Draco adjusts his robes, picking imaginary lint off the sleeves. “I’ll leave you to your...evening. Have a good holiday,  _ Professor _ ,” he looks past Charlie and locks eyes with Harry. “Potter,” he sneers, turning away so his robes billow out behind him and dramatically storms out of the office.

After the door slams following his exit, Charlie and Harry stand still, frozen, for minutes. From beside the door, Harry watches Charlie breathe heavy, his jaw clench, his body shiver, until he can’t watch idly any longer.

As soon as Harry enters his sight, Charlie shatters. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes staring wide at the floor where Draco had just been standing. His hands clench the edge of his desk. “I’m fucked.”

Harry slides his hands down the back of Charlie’s triceps, grabbing him by the wrists and prying his hands off the hardwood. He looks a lot like Harry himself does in the moments before a panic attack crashes into him. “I’ll talk to him.” Harry murmurs, threading their fingers together.

“What if it’s too late? What if-what if he’s already run back to McGonagall and is telling her as we speak?” A look of terror comes over his face as he bolts upright, bumping against Harry’s chest. Even though Harry is smaller, he holds his own against Charlie’s pushing toward the door. “I have to find him. I have to know what he’s thinking.” And then, under his breath, “He’s a slytherin; maybe I can bribe him.”

Harry assumes it’s his magic that keeps Charlie in place, even as he struggles to run away. “Charlie, stop. You’re right, he’s a slytherin. He’s not going to go off telling the first person he can. And besides, we’re friends. He wouldn’t do that just to get at your family.”

Would he?

Harry admits, as much as he’s seen the hatred between the Weasleys and the Malfoys, he has no idea how deep the feud runs. Surely, it’s not deep enough for Draco to ruin his relationship with his most powerful friend--and possibly his only one at Hogwarts anymore--over?

Charlie’s face is still white as a sheet, but the terror in his eyes has faded into anxiety and he’s stopped trying to get out of Harry’s hold. “You trust him that much?”

Harry shrugs. “I wouldn’t fuck him if I couldn’t trust him.” he squeezes their interlocked hands. “Just let me talk to him, okay?”

Charlie watches him closely, looking for the slightest hint of nervousness. Harry does his best to keep his face blank, but he can’t help sighing in relief when Charlie finally nods. “Yeah, alright. He’s much more likely to listen to you than me, I guess.”

Harry presses a chaste kiss on Charlie’s cheek and tries not to react when Charlie flinches. “Great. I’ll come back here before breakfast to let you know what happened.”

Charlie nods again. His head bobs absently as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “Okay, whenever. Reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight now, anyways.”

“Char,” Harry says softly, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders quicken as he continues to bury himself in his thoughts. “What can I do?”

“You should go,” he chokes out, eyes pleading. “Please, go talk to him. You shouldn’t be here right now. Merlin, I’ve fucked this right up.” Charlie forces his way out of Harry’s grasp and paces in front of him, running his hands through his hair.

Harry takes a deep breath before moving. He knows he can’t take it personally, but it doesn’t stop the pain twisting in his gut. And how is he supposed to leave Charlie when he’s like this? “Are...are you sure?”

“Yes,” Charlie stops pacing to lead Harry to his door. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I really need you to leave now. We’ll talk about this in the morning, yeah?” Harry nods. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

When Harry returns to his room, it’s empty and he feels like he might vomit. Draco wouldn’t have already gone to McGonagall. He can’t have.

Except he totally could have. Harry can’t help but think back to first year, when he got himself detention because he was so determined to tattle on Harry. They get on better these days, true, but as much as he meant to reassure Charlie minutes ago, being alone with his spiralling thoughts has him second guessing. “Damn it!” he shouts, punching his bedpost.

At least if Ron were here, he could talk Harry off the ledge he’s building himself.

Harry spends a good hour pacing the room, repacking his trunk, and organizing his desk before giving up hope that Draco will be back anytime soon. The good news is, the longer he’s alone, the less likely it is that Draco told anyone anything. Harry hopes he’s just creeping the walls of Hogwarts as he’s apt to do. With that thought, his body finally allows him to take a seat on his bed. Suddenly, it’s like any exhaustion from the past month has slammed into him at once, and he can’t help but lie down. As much as he’s been enjoying the first half of his eighth year, it almost feels as if he’s been living a double life: one with Charlie, and one with his classmates. They’re worlds apart in his mind, happening side-by-side yet only rarely interacting. Transfiguration class is really the only time, and even then, Charlie doesn’t usually bother him more than he does any other student, now that most everyone has gotten used to his charm.

It isn’t long before his eyes begin to droop, and soon, Harry falls asleep, going over excuses in his head. He never gets the chance to use them, though, before he has to meet Hermoine and the Weasleys at Bill’s office floo after breakfast and head home to the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for going mia on y'all, idk what day it is ever and i've got too many ideas to write just one
> 
> tysm to everyone that comments on this story your words make me so happy and i hope you enjoy!! Next chappie is hella long and smutty so i hope that makes up for my absence


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all
> 
> i've had this chapter sitting around for a bit and it's finally ready to be posted! I definitely had too much fun with this (aka there's so much smut omg)
> 
> (check out the end notes for an important message pls)

When Harry stumbles out of the Burrow’s floo, Fred Weasley is the one to catch him. “Alright, Harry?”

“‘Course he’s alright, Fred. He’s immortal!” George replies from the living room couch. Bill, having been the first to come through, smacks George on the side of the head. “Oi, watch it! That’s my good ear!” he pouts. Ginny rolls her eyes at their antics, and Molly ignores them altogether, opting to pull Harry away from Fred and into a crushing hug.

Hermoine comes through next, then Ron, and finally Charlie. Once Molly has squeezed half the life out of everyone, Arthur corrals them all to the stairs, telling them to unpack and relax before lunch. From the second floor, they hear him telling Fred and George to help their mother with lunch. “Ten sickles says she bans them from the kitchen in ten minutes.” Bill laughs from the front of the line.

Ginny scoffs and she and Hermoine break off towards her room. “Fifteen that they won’t last five.”

“I have to agree with Gin,” Ron says, Harry nodding along.

“Oh, bugger off, you lot!” Bill groans, already accepting his defeat. “What do you think, Charlie?”

“I don’t care,” he grunts. It’s the first thing Harry’s heard him say since he broke the news that Draco had all but disappeared. The prat wasn’t even at breakfast, having already started his travels home. Charlie pushes past Bill and his feet are heavy on the rest of the stairs until he reaches his room, almost immediately slamming it shut.

It makes Harry’s heart hurt.

“Do you know what’s up with him?” Ron asks as soon as they’ve dropped their trunks in Ron’s room.

“Who, Charlie?” Ron nods. “Why should I know?” he asks a little more forcefully than he’d wanted to.

Ron gives him a once-over with a raised eyebrow. “Just thought you might know something since you’re friends. You see him more than I do, is all.”

Right. Of course. “I’ve no idea, mate.” The lie sticks to his teeth on the way out. He hates lying to Ron, and he’s been doing entirely too much of it this year.

Harry and Ron have barely sat in their beds before they hear two sets of feet pounding up the stairs. Deep voices they recognize as the twins chant something in time with the beat of their feet. “Reckon it hasn’t even been five minutes yet.” Ron grins.

As they approach Ron’s bedroom door, Harry realizes what they’re cheering: “Quid-ditch! Quid-ditch! Quid-ditch!” The sound stops for a split second and then their door flies open. “Quidditch?” They ask in unison.

“I’m in. Just need to change into something warmer.” Ron says.

Six eyes turn expectantly to Harry. “Er, I think I’ll sit this one out, guys. Thanks for the offer.” With Charlie in the mood he’s in, Harry doubts he’ll play. This might be the only time until tonight Harry gets the chance to speak with him with any kind of privacy.

“Lame,” The twins say before starting up their chant again and continuing up the stairs. Even once Ron closes the door again, they can hear Charlie’s “piss off!” from two floors up, and when the twins come back down, still chanting, another set of feet follows them down, Bill’s voice debating the best way to split the teams.

“You sure you don’t want to play, mate?” Ron asks as he ties a scarf around his neck.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I think I might take a shower, see if your mum needs any help maybe.”

Ron gives him an odd look, like he’s about to question his every word, but decides against it. “Suit yourself.”

Harry watches out Ron’s window and waits until all six of them--even Hermoine had agreed to join--are in the air before creeping his way upstairs. Hearing Molly and Arthur downstairs, he manages to pass over every creaky step, and his knock is so soft he’s unsure if Charlie even can hear it.

“Dad?” Charlie asks after a second.

“Not quite,” Harry says, and the door opens.

“You should be outside,” he says before turning away from the now open door and collapsing into his bed. Charlie’s room is simple, minimalist--it makes sense, given he’s hardly lived here in a decade. A bed against one wall, and a desk and dresser against the opposite. Behind the dresser is a window that overlooks the front yard, Arthur’s shed and the pond beyond it.

“I wanted to check on you.” Harry says, closing the door behind him and throwing up a wandless silencing charm. “You’re upset about Draco still?”

“I’m upset that I’ll probably lose my job, and by extension you.” He says in a monotone, staring at his wall.

Harry’s heart drops. “Why would you lose me? Professor or not, I wasn’t planning on losing you.”

Charlie sighs and sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. “If I can’t be at Hogwarts, I’ll return to my job in Romania. This started off being a temporary thing, me working in England, and I know they’d take me back in a heartbeat.” Charlie looks up, speaking the next words to Harry instead of the floor. “I’m not built for long distance, Harry.” He cringes like it hurts him to even say it. Harry wouldn’t doubt it; just hearing it makes his own insides twist.

Harry takes a seat beside him and grabs both of his hands. “It might not even come down to that, Charlie. It doesn’t seem like he’s said anything yet.”

Outside, someone shouts. It sounds more than familiar to Harry, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Sounds like a good Quidditch match out there,” Charlie sighs at the same time Harry jumps up. “What is it?”

After what seems like a lifetime of battling a war next to that shout, it makes a singular connection in Harry’s brain: Ron and danger. “I’ll be right back, I...I have to check on him.”

“Okay?” Charlie looks at him in confusion, but there’s no time in Harry’s mind to explain. He runs for the stairs, pulling his wand out as he goes.

When he reaches the landing, Ron is on the couch clutching his eye. Hermoine, Ginny, Bill, and Arthur crowd around him, while Fred and George try to extract a letter from a gigantic white owl perched on the windowsill.

Molly bustles into the room and shoos everyone away from Ron. “Bloody bird nearly knocked me off my broom!” he exclaims, allowing his mother to rest a cold compress over his eye. Harry lets out a deep breath and manages to slide his wand away before anyone notices.

Except for Hermoine, of course. For a second, she gives him the same confused look as Charlie, but then realization floods her face.

“Well, who’s it from, then?” Arthur asks.

“Not sure yet,” George says at the same time Fred dives for it, prying it out of the screeching owl’s talons. “Now piss off, you!” he yells, swatting at the bird.

On the floor, Fred cheers in victory as he looks at the address. “It’s for Harry, of course.” he sings. “A love letter for our darling Harry!”

Harry rolls his eyes and Fred tosses it to him. He breaks the seal of the letter and looks down to the bottom of the note. “It’s from Malfoy, it looks like.”

“Oh, that’s rich!” Ron cries. “He probably told the damn bird to do it! ‘Attack the first Weasley you see!’”

“It flew past Bill and Ginny; think it was just after you, Ron.” George says warily.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Hermoine says from near the window. She’s right next to the owl, now, looking at its eyes. “With the cataracts it has, I’d bet the poor thing is nearly blind.”

“Then he sent that one on purpose so he’d have an excuse.” Ron says with finality.

“Oh, honestly, Ronald!” Hermoine starts.

Harry tunes out the rest of their bickering as he reads through the letter. By the time he reaches the end, he’s desperate to find a way back upstairs.

Arthur is the person closest to him and one of the only people not engaged in the debate over the owl’s intentions. “I’m running upstairs for a nip,” he says. 

Arthur gives him a soft smile. “I’ll make sure they don’t notice you’re gone!” He whispers with a wink.

Harry is too excited to bother with knocking when he returns to Charlie’s room. “I got a letter from Draco,” he spits the words out before he can even fully close the door.

Charlie stands, looking at him with concern. “Is that what everyone’s on about down there?”

“Kind of. Ron had a bit of a run-in with the owl while they were outside. He’s got a black eye; I think he’s fine other than that. But that’s not important; read this.” He shoves the paper into Charlie’s hands, and Harry reads the note beside him and Charlie skims over it.

**_Harry,_ **

**_I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t like sharing. It’s needless to say I wasn’t expecting what I saw, least of all because it’s a Weasley (Really? You couldn’t have chosen...anyone else?)._ **

**_And before the dragon man can get too cross, tell him your secret is safe with me. At the very least, I think it unwise to compromise our relationship. I have enough of my own problems without worrying about yours. Next time though, may I suggest a locking charm?_ **

**_-DM_ **

“I told you we didn’t need to worry,” Harry can’t help but feel a little smug as he finishes reading over the letter for a second time.

Charlie bites his lips over a half smile and looks down at Harry with hooded lids. “Yeah, yeah.” 

He drops the letter on his bed and steps toward Harry, dropping his hands on Harry’s hips. “So you’re feeling better?” Harry asks, his hands going up to Charlie’s biceps and rubbing them.

Charlie nods. “Mostly. I still kind of don’t want to believe him, but you trust him.” He leans down so their foreheads touch. “He seems a bit put out by it though, doesn’t he?”

Harry laughs. “I think that’s him trying to be nice, honestly.”

Charlie smiles for real, and Harry feels a weight lift off his chest.

Then Charlie kisses him, and he hears voices downstairs, and it presses back down.

Harry pulls out of the kiss rather quickly. “You don’t wanna make out a little?” Charlie squeezes his hips. “Seems like everyone is still pretty occupied down there.”

“Have you decided if you’re going to tell your parents? You know, like, come out?” Harry asks. Charlie’s face pales, and he knows the answer.

“I just...I don’t know. I think they’ll love me no matter what, but Mum is traditional. And opinionated. And I don’t need her telling me that it’s a phase or a flaw or some other absolute shite.” Harry nudges Charlie backwards, and they sit together on the bed. Charlie grabs his hand. “Ever since my teen years, my relationship with her has been on the rocks, more or less. We’re just very different people and we don’t see eye to eye. I don’t tell her things because it makes my life easier and our relationship less strained.” He lies his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“Maybe you’re overthinking it,” Harry tries. “Like with Draco.”

Charlie shrugs. “I just wish I could know for sure.”

Harry drops his hand so he can wrap Charlie into an embrace. He kisses his forehead and holds him close for a long time.

By the time he and Charlie are called down for lunch, the owl is gone and everyone else has long since returned to their quidditch game. “Looks like we get first choice,” Charlie grins.

Their thighs touch for the entirety of lunch, and the simple warmth of this closeness and the rest of his family sends a thrill down Harry’s spine.

At dinner, Harry finds himself squished between Hermoine and Ginny as Molly levitates a feast large enough that the table bends under its weight into the room. “Dish up everyone!” She says as Arthur passes out plates. “Especially you, Harry--you’re looking a bit peaky.”

Harry nods with a tight-lipped smile. He imagines he likely does look a bit unwell; he feels like he hasn’t taken a full breath since this afternoon when he’d decided. As he serves himself a heap of mashed potatoes, from the corner of his eye he can see Charlie sneaking glances at him, like he’s trying to see if his mother is right.

After he piles his plate to Molly’s satisfaction, Harry tries not to look much further than his plate. He knows that one wrong look from anyone at the table could kill the momentum he’s trying to build up, and he’s convinced that one look from Charlie will give away his plan. That’s one of the many things Harry loves about having a big family: sometimes, he can just fade. He can live quiet in the background as the twins explain their newest inventions to Bill and Charlie on one end of the table while Hermoine tries to explain the internet to Ron and Arthur at the other end. Here, he’s just Harry, and it’s fantastic.

As long as tonight doesn’t change anything, that is. It would be a shame to spend the holidays holed up in Grimmauld.

Ginny, Fred, and George devour their meals so quickly that they’re clearing their plates before anyone else is even halfway through their meal. “Can we be excused, Mum? There’s a Harpies match starting on the wireless in ten minutes.” Ginny asks. Beside Harry, the twins bounce in their seats.

“Actually,” Harry swallows. If the three of them leave, he’ll have to wait for another time to say what he wants to say, and he’s not sure that he’ll find the courage again for a long while. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about. All of you, really.” He glances around the table without actually meeting eyes with anyone. The idea had come to him this morning after his conversation with Charlie, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all day. He just hopes it doesn’t make things worse--what if Charlie gets mad? He doesn’t want to step on any toes. At the same time, he knows this has to come eventually. Might as well get it out of the way. “I’ve, um, been wanting to come out to you all first. Before anyone else finds out and the press blows up.”

He sees the realization flash onto Charlie’s face, followed immediately by a panic so sincere that Harry almost drops the subject altogether. “What do you mean, dear?” Molly asks absently, eyes on her plate as she cuts into her chicken.

Arthur is much more intent on the conversation, looking straight at Harry for his answer. Ron and Hermoine’s eyes are wide, glancing between Harry and Molly like they’re in a tennis match. Bill is looking pointedly into his plate, and Harry can’t tell if he’s hiding a smirk or a frown. Fred and George are _ definitely _ smirking, looking around the table like Christmas has come early--Harry swears he sees Fred’s eyes connect him and Charlie, but with much bigger concerns at the moment, he pushes the image out of his mind. Ginny’s face is one of calculation, like she’s down to the last pieces of the puzzle and yet she can’t fit them together.

“Erm, well…” The reality of the situation is settling in, that in just seconds, he could ruin the family he’s wished so long to be a part of. If Molly and Arthur, the best parents he’s ever had, were to reject him over this, he’s not convinced that anything will be able to pull himself out of the hole he’ll dig.

“Harry?” Arthur prompts, and Harry realizes that everyone’s focus is on him exclusively. Not even the twins look jovial anymore, just worried. How long has he been catastrophizing this moment instead of just living it?

“I’m gay. Well, bi.” He stumbles over his words. Charlie looks like he just might have a heart attack, eyes jumping from Molly to Harry to Arthur to Harry and back to Molly again. “Sometime after the end of the war, I, um...I figured out that I like...uh...I like blokes, too. Like I like girls, I mean.” Everyone’s face is now ridiculously neutral, Harry thinks. He can feel his pulse tapping in his veins and he sets his silverware down so no one notices his hands are shaking. “I, um...is that alright?” He asks after a moment of silence.

Charlie jumps a fraction of an inch in his seat. His eyes scream how much he wants to be sitting next to Harry, to be hand in hand with him as their family sorts themselves out, but they both know Harry has to get through this alone. For both of their sakes.

“‘Alright’? That’s not really a choice, mate, is it?” Fred says.

“Reckon it’s not, Fred.” George answers, looking over to his parents. “I mean, that’s what Lee said when he told us he was gay.”

“Of course it’s not!” Hermoine jumps in. 

Arthur and Molly look at each other, having a silent conversation they’ve perfected after years of nosy children eavesdropping. From beside him, Hermoine pats his knee and gives him a quick, encouraging smile.

“Right, well, I can’t imagine why anyone would care about that,” Molly says, sure and confident. “We certainly don’t.” She gives him a warm smile. Relief rushes into Harry so quickly that he feels like he could cry.

“Of course we don’t mind, Harry,” Arthur continues, voice calm and grounded. “Even for heterosexual couples, love is never really a choice, don’t you think?” Harry nods, smiling. “And besides, Molly, don’t you remember that scandal about Dumbledore and Grindelwald when we were young?”

“Oh, how could I forget? The most famous and infamous wizards of the time, in love? What a scandal. The Ministry tried to quash the story so much that no one ever talks about it anymore.” Molly’s eyebrows draw together as she looks at Harry, and she frowns. “Maybe we should be, though. If dear Harry feels this way, can you imagine how many other young people are worried about saying anything?” She stands and rushes over to Harry, drawing him into a lung-crushing hug. “I’m so sorry you thought there was something wrong with you, or that we would judge you for it.”

“We’re you’re family, Harry. We fought a war together. I hardly doubt something as inconsequential as this would be enough for you to get rid of us.” Bill adds, Ginny nodding along earnestly. She’s wearing that little secret smile that she knows makes Harry feel warm inside, and he knows that they’ll be okay.

Well, as long as she doesn’t find out about Charlie. At least not yet. Harry decides that him coming out is enough drama for this holiday break.

Charlie is slow on the uptake, nodding with minuscule, jagged movements. He’s shell-shocked, and his eyes haven’t left Harry in minutes. Harry can’t look at him for more than a few seconds without blushing under his gaze and having to turn away.

“Well then, now that you’ve told us, should we be expecting an extra head at the table anytime soon?” Molly asks hopefully.

Ron chokes on his water.

Harry fights a blush. Under the table, he sees Hermoine slap Ron’s thigh. “Er...I don’t think so. Haven’t quite gotten that far yet.”

“ _ Sure _ you haven’t,” Ron says, voice thick with sarcasm as he gives Harry a pointed look. The twins, Bill, and Charlie laugh and jeer at Harry.

“Right. Well, if that’s all, can we go now?” Ginny stands abruptly. “Happy for you and all, Harry, but quidditch is due to start any minute.” she explains, not quite meeting his eyes. “Mum?”

“Sure, darling.” Molly’s smile fades as Ginny leaves without a word. Seconds later, the piercing screech of the wireless coming to life sends everyone into motion.

“Suppose we best be off too,” Fred stands.

“Sounds like the opening ceremony is starting,” George finishes, standing himself.

“Yeah, wonderful dinner, Mum,” Charlie stands quickly, a flicker of realization comes across his face and he smirks, kissing Molly on the cheek before attempting to escape to the stairs.

At the same time, Ron slides out of his seat. “Think I’m going to go listen in on the match too…”

“Oh, no!” Molly grabs Charlie’s wrist with one hand and snaps at Ron with the other. “Some of you need to help with the dishes!”

Charlie slips out of her grasp and dashes to the stairs. “I was leaving first! If anyone has to stay, it’s Ron.” he calls. Hermoine tries to grab Ron, but he’s already halfway out of the room until she reacts. 

Bill and Hermoine roll their eyes almost simultaneously. “I’ll help, Mum.” Bill smiles, gathers up his plate and silverware and begins collecting the rest. Arthur follows suit.

Molly looks to Harry and Hermoine, the only others left at the table. She sighs in exasperation. “Oh, you two wouldn’t terribly mind helping, would you?”

“Of course not,” Hermoine says, Harry nodding along. 

Once everything is clean and put away, Arthur and Molly retire to bed for the evening. Hermoine is drawn into the living room to scold the twins about whatever it is they’re tinkering with while they listen, and Bill excuses himself to shower. Alone in the kitchen, Harry waves his wand and the ingredients for hot cocoa gather on the stove and begin preparing themselves.

Hands full with steaming mugs, Harry kicks at Charlie’s door when he reaches the landing. “Charlie, I’ve got cocoa!” he yells through the door. He hears some muffled shuffling for a minute before the door clicks, swinging open only a crack before footsteps recede.

As soon as Harry presses the door closed behind him, the mugs are being taken out of his hands by a very naked, very aroused dragon tamer. Harry can’t help but watch Charlie’s arse as he turns and sits the mugs on the floor beside his bed. The smirk on Charlie’s face when he catches Harry looking makes his stomach flip.

“What happened to keeping things low-key?” Harry asks, eyebrow raised as Charlie grabs his hips and tilts his head down to Harry’s level. “I could have been anyone coming up just then.”

“Honestly? I thought you would be downstairs listening to the match. I was just going to have a wank. But now that you’re here, well, why not make the most of it?” Charlie grinds their fronts together firmly as he presses his lips into Harry’s. “Bill already knows, and no one else will be up here as long as that match is going on.” he says between long, deep kisses. “Plus, I need to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Harry asks.

Charlie pulls back and guides them to sit on his bed. “My parents already think of you as their son. If they’re okay with you, they’ll have to be okay with me.” he explains, pulling Harry closer and mouthing at the skin behind Harry’s neck.

Harry can’t help his grin. “So you’re not upset about it?”

“Why would I be upset? I mean, you would have had to come out someday, and I know they’re your family, too.” He says, lying his head on Harry’s shoulder. “And then there’s the bonus of knowing how my parents feel about gay people. A win-win situation, in my book.”

“That’s a bit weird, isn’t it though?” Harry muses.

Charlie presses a chaste kiss on Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t think about it right now.”

His lips climb up from Harry’s neck to his jaw. “Okay, then what now?” Harry swallows, playing with strands of hair at the nape of his neck, silently begging him not to move.

Charlie nips at Harry’s earlobe, worrying it between his teeth when Harry sucks in a deep breath. “I want you to top me,” he says lightly, almost hesitantly, as if he’s unsure if Harry will think it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard anyone say to him.

To be clear, it is.

“Right now?” Harry repeats in a whisper, one hand twisting tighter in Charlie’s hair and the other trailing down his bare chest. He’s still reeling from finding Charlie waiting for him, ready and eager. And now he wants Harry to take him, to press him down into the mattress and fuck him, dominate him.

“Please, Harry,” Charlie’s voice is needy in a way Harry has never heard before as he crowds over him, crawling into Harry’s lap. “You’re so fucking hot.” He sucks Harry’s lips against his own in a bruising, inescapable kiss. “You don’t even realize when you do it, how you can take over a room with just a few words,” Charlie continues between kisses. “You’ve got power, Harry, and it’s hot as hell.”

Harry can’t help it; he preens under the attention. Someone praising him like this is usually grounds for him blushing, shutting down, and getting out of the conversation as quickly as possible, but right now, it just turns him on. “Oh, hell, Charlie,” he pants, grinding into Charlie’s lap. He wants to release himself from his pants, rub against Charlie skin-to-skin, but if he wants any hope of lasting long enough to actually get inside Charlie, he has to find restraint.

“Mhmmm,” Charlie hums long and slow as Harry slides over his length. “Want to feel you inside me, baby.” Harry’s face goes hot at the endearment--they’ve never used it before. “Take me, please, fuck me,” Charlie chants.

“Merlin, yes, fuck, okay,” Harry cries, working his hips against Charlie as he writhes underneath him. “Tell me what to do?”

Charlie moves further onto the bed and Harry follows, unwilling to disconnect them. Charlie reaches a hand behind him and then holds up a bottle of lube between them. “Do you want to prep me or watch me do it myself?”

Harry’s cock throbs at both options. “Start alone; I’ll join you once you’re relaxed.” he says with a confidence he’s never felt before, sitting back on his haunches.

Charlie gives him a wicked grin before popping open the cap. “Then sit back for a nip and enjoy the show,” he winks.

Harry forces his hands to stray no higher than Charlie’s thighs as he slowly pushes into himself with one finger. As Charlie lies on his back, he looks up to the ceiling while he adjusts. Harry sits on his knees between his bent legs, watching Charlie’s pointer finger disappear inside himself. As a distraction, he reaches one of his hands forward and runs a finger down the inside of Charlie’s thigh. “Alright?” Harry asks.

Charlie bites his lip, but nods. “I can’t wait for this to be you.”

If Charlie feels the way Harry’s hand trembles against him, he doesn’t say anything. As he pushes a second finger into his passage, a soft whine escapes his lips, and Harry’s patience reaches its end. Pulling back from Charlie, he jumps out of bed just long enough to undo his trousers and toss them onto the floor. Once he resumes his position between Charlie’s bent legs, he reaches into his pants, sighing as his fingers tighten around his length.

“Impatient, much?” Charlie smirks.

Unashamed, Harry nods. “You look so good like this.” This might be Harry’s new favorite sight: him, seating between Charlie’s legs as he stretches his arse open, readying himself for Harry’s cock. Charlie’s face is red and his body flushed as he breathes in time with the short, slow movements of his fingers. While he watches Harry stroke himself, his free hand inches closer and closer to his erection twitching against his abdomen.

As a sheen of sweat breaks out on Charlie’s chest, he withdraws his hand from his hole. “Want to take over?” He nudges Harry with a knee.

Grudgingly, Harry releases himself and picks up the lube next to Charlie’s pillows. As he hovers over the man, Charlie wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and pulls him down against him. Harry lowers his head and Charlie lifts his to meet in the middle. He shoves his tongue past Harry’s lips and his hands slide down to the back of Harry’s thighs so he can grind up against him. “I can’t take over if you keep distracting me,” Harry laughs at his enthusiasm.

“I wouldn’t have to distract you if you would hurry up and get inside me already.” Charlie replies, pushing Harry forward so their fronts rub together. “This would feel a lot better for both of us if you got rid of these.” he continues, pulling at Harry’s pants.

Harry closes his eyes and focuses for a second, and the barrier between them disappears. “Yeah?” he teases as Charlie moans at the unexpected friction.

“Fuck yeah.” Charlie looks at him wide-eyed. “Did you just do that silently?” Harry nods. “Without a wand?” he nods again. “Merlin, that’s hot.”

Harry rolls his eyes playfully as he sits up and pops the lid on the lube. “Control yourself for a minute.”

The wide-eye look only grows as Harry pours the lubricant into his hand. “Are you planning on fisting me?” Charlie asks with a raised eyebrow.

Harry’s own eyes bulge, now. “What? No!” Heat burns across his cheeks. “I just want to make sure I don’t hurt you,” he says softly, focusing on spreading lube across his fingers to avoid meeting Charlie’s eyes. “How long has it been, anyways, since you…” he trails off, knowing Charlie knows what he means.

Charlie shrugs. “A while, but I’m not worried, so you shouldn’t be either. Not that your cock isn’t fantastic, love, but I’ve dealt with worse.” he winks.

A thrill of intrigue runs through Harry’s brain, but he pushes it away to get back on task. “Right. Two fingers, then?”

Charlie lets Harry spend as long as he wants pumping his fingers into his arse. He doesn’t say it, but Harry becomes rather good at fingering rather quickly. He presses at all the places that make Charlie twitch, and if they didn’t have loftier goals for the evening, he’d be happy to come just like this. “I think I’m ready for more,” Charlie’s voice is more gruff than even he expects it to be.

Harry pulls out and lines up his ring finger with his already extended pointer and middle ones. “Good, just like that,” Charlie whispers as Harry’s fingers circle around his opening.

As his fingers press that first inch into Charlie’s entrance, Charlie can’t help but moan out Harry’s name as the familiar burning stretch takes over. Harry freezes, panic in his eyes, and Charlie is quick to reassure. “It’s okay, it’s good. You can keep going.”

A banging on Charlie’s door throws Harry off balance, and as he braces himself against Charlie’s chest, his fingers twist in all the way to the hilt.

“Mates!” Bill calls outside the door at the same time Charlie throws a hand over his mouth, moaning into it loudly. The hand Harry has resting on the man’s chest flies up to his mouth, barely helping to stifle the noise. “I’ll put up the charms this time; next time, I send up Ginny!”

Bill’s presence seems to fade away as the charm attaches to Charlie’s walls, and as soon as Charlie notices, he removes their hands from his mouth, letting out a throaty moan.

“Are you hurt?” Harry asks worriedly. He barely has time to find embarrassment at being caught. How could he, with the sight in front of him?

“Fuck no,” Charlie groans. “Do it like that again. Faster.” Harry complies, and Charlie’s hands surge forward and cling to Harry’s biceps. “Yes, Harry, yes,” he thrusts back against Harry’s hand and Harry leans forward, wrapping his free hand around Charlie’s cock and kissing him.

Even though Harry’s not inside him yet, Harry can already understand the appeal of topping. Watching Charlie come apart as Harry stretches him open is intoxicating; he thinks he’d like to do it all day, if Charlie would let him. “God, I wanna fuck you so good, fuck you as hard as you fuck me,” Harry admits, drunk in the moment. He feels high, teetering on the edge of something new, something tight and waiting and needing and Charlie.

“Then do it,” Charlie pants, nipping at Harry’s lips. “I want to feel you for days.”

A whine works its way up Harry’s throat. “Do you have protection?”

Charlie shakes his head. “Want to feel you come in me, too.”

And if that doesn’t make Harry nearly come right there.

Once prepared, Harry presses the head of his shaft just against the pucker of Charlie’s arse. He revels in the moment, in Charlie’s face of anticipation and the growing desire thrumming under his skin. “Okay,” he says, and pushes forward.

Somehow, Charlie is just as tight as Draco--maybe even more so. As he watches Harry slide in with bated breath, he worries his lower lip between his teeth. “Alright?” Harry asks.

Charlie’s eyes slide closed as he tilts his head back. “Keep going,” he says, voice strained. Harry can’t tell if it’s from pleasure or pain until he bottoms out and Charlie lets out that same moan he had just before Bill caught them.

“Tell me when you want me to move,” Harry murmurs, ignoring the mounting tension of his own pleasure; the tension that begs him to move now, fuck Charlie into the mattress without giving him a single second to breathe. As Charlie flexes around him, he can’t help but shiver, minuscule movements spurring on every instinct he’s trying to ignore.

“Now, please, now,” Charlie gasps, grinding back on Harry’s cock.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Harry sighs, pulling out and thrusting forward in short, staccato movements. He leans forward, bracing himself on Charlie’s broad, straining shoulders.

“Harder,” Charlie grunts just before Harry connects their lips and grabs the hair at the nape of his neck. He pulls at Charlie’s locks at the same time he slams in harder, causing Charlie to bite Harry’s lip. “Yes, like that.”

Harry picks his head up as he focuses on shagging Charlie harder. The hand still on Charlie’s shoulder grips into him like a claw, and Harry gets the sense that he’s into it. Every few seconds, Charlie moans in a way that makes Harry weak in the knees, but he can tell he hasn’t found that spot yet, the one that never fails to make Harry himself see stars. He tries changing the angle of his thrusts to no avail, and all too soon he feels the tremors in his thighs that tell him an orgasm is becoming near-imminent.

“Will you ride me?” The idea comes out of Harry’s mouth as soon as it pops into his brain. It’s the first thing he can think of to better find Charlie’s prostate.

He feels Charlie clench around him. “Fuck yes.”

As soon as they switch positions, Harry realizes the error of his ways. He can’t take his eyes off the way Charlie slides down on his cock, repeatedly engulfing his erection in quivering heat.

“Are you going to come in me, Harry?” Charlie asks with a smirk. His cock juts out as he leans back to steady himself on Harry’s thighs.

“It’s hard not to when you look like this,” Harry groans, grabbing Charlie’s hips as his arse grinds against Harry’s crotch.

“Shut up, you’re one to talk,” Charlie smiles and slaps the inside of Harry’s thighs. “Watching you come apart under me makes me feel...I can’t even...oh!” Charlie’s face contorts as he arches his back and Harry can’t stop the grin turning up his lips.

Nailed it.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, canting his hips up in time with Charlie’s movements.

“Yeah, fuck. Don’t come yet,” Charlie gasps, working himself back on Harry faster. Harry reaches forward to grab Charlie’s cock, stroking him tightly.

Harry’s whole body feels like it’s burning; he clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut as if that helps the pure pleasure that comes from the moans leaving Charlie’s mouth, from his hole fluttering around Harry’s twitching cock. It feels brilliant, but Harry can feel himself slipping. He wanks Charlie faster and his toes curl so tightly they cramp. “I can’t...Char...I’m gonna…” he tries, his brain short-circuiting before he can say anything.

Charlie speeds up, knocking Harry’s hand away from his erection and grabbing it for himself. “Okay, baby, come for me. Look at me; I want to see you lose it.”

Harry allows his eyes to slide open, and the image of Charlie grinding above him, tugging himself closer to the edge, is all the fuel he needs to send him over the edge. “Fuck me, Charlie, fuck me!” he shouts as he explodes. His body quivers through his orgasm, hands holding onto Charlie’s hips like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered. At some point he distantly hears Charlie call out for him and his chest becomes streaked with wetness as Charlie’s body slows and they breathe through their aftershocks. “You’re amazing,” Harry says as Charlie rolls off to the side and pulls him against his chest.

“You are,” Charlie rebuts, kissing his forehead. “And you’d be even more amazing if you could use your sexy wandless magic to get rid of this mess,” he looks between them where their chests nearly touch.

Harry laughs and leans in for a kiss, and when they pull back the mess dissolves seemingly into thin air. “I still feel like I need a shower,” Harry wrinkles his nose as he feels their sweat begin to dry into his skin. Maybe it’s just because of his minor flashback earlier in the day, but it reminds him of the weeks he spent without showering, grime sticking to every part of him as he was chased by snatchers, as he listened to Hermoine scream in the basement of Malfoy Manor, as he buried Dobby on a beach he hasn’t visited since.

“Harry?” Charlie’s hand on his cheek knocks him away from his thoughts. “What are you thinking?”

Harry shrugs, tries to push it into the back of his head with everything he can. “Nothing important. I’m just tired.”

He moves to sit up, but Charlie’s hold keeps him in place. “No, it’s not that. You have the same look you did this afternoon when you thought Ron was hurt.” Charlie frowns. “Tell me what’s on your mind, yeah?”

Harry sighs and rests his head against Charlie’s chest, throwing an arm around Charlie’s waist and snuggling against him. “Earlier today, with Ron...he sounded like he did when he got splinched.” When Charlie gives him a look of confusion, he continues. “When we broke into the Ministry last year to get the horcrux, we almost got caught. Yaxley had a hold of Ron when Hermoine apparated us, so his arm got splinched. ‘Course Hermoine fixed him up right away, but...I still think about it sometimes, what could have happened.”

Charlie is quiet for a moment, staring at the wall behind Harry’s head as his brain puzzles. “You think about it a lot, don’t you?” he asks quietly, holding Harry a little tighter.

“All the time,” Harry admits against his chest.

“Is that why you still wake up in the middle of the night?” Harry can feel the way Charlie tenses as he asks the question, feel the way Charlie has to ask the question for his own sanity.

Harry’s face burns. He thought he’d done a good job of hiding it, given that he spends more nights away from Charlie than with him, these days. Regardless, Charlie is a pretty heavy sleeper. Even the few mornings when he had woken up in Charlie’s bed far before any alarm, he could have sworn Charlie’s breathing stayed even from the second he woke up to the second he slid Charlie’s door shut behind him. “Yes, but I’m handling it.”

And he is. At least he’s making good use of his time, right?

Charlie looks down at him in disbelief. “How many hours of sleep do you get a night, hmm? Four or five?”

Harry shrugs. “My marks are up and I’m not isolating myself. The dreams, I can deal with.”

“The flashbacks, you mean?” Charlie prods.

“What? Yeah, sure. Them.”

“The muggles have a name for it, you know. What you’re going through.” Charlie says. “Have you ever heard of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?”

Before he can stop himself, Harry rolls his eyes. Vaguely, he remembers Hermoine giving him a book and some pamphlets on the topic, along with a list of therapists she’d suggested he look into, a couple of days after the final battle. He’d thrown them into the fire as soon as she left. “How have you heard of it?” Harry fires back.

Charlie shrugs. “Wizards and muggles aren’t nearly as segregated in Romania as in England. Rest of the world already thinks they’re crazy witches, so what’s the use in hiding from them?” He tilts Harry’s head up so they can look at each other. “Have you heard of it?”

Harry nods. “A little. So what, though? There’s a name for it. How does that help me?”

Charlie’s face lightens, and he chuckles. “It helps you because there’s treatments for it. Potions, medicines, therapies.”

“You know I don’t want to talk to a therapist,” Harry’s nose scrunches up.

“So we’ll find a different solution.” Charlie presses their lips together before moving on. “I hate seeing you suffer, love. Can we look into it, at least?”

The pleading look in Charlie’s eyes would make Harry say yes to anything. He thinks the more time he spends with Charlie, the more Charlie realizes this too. “Only if we don’t tell Hermoine yet. Or Ron, because he’ll definitely tell Hermoine.” Harry doesn’t even want to think about the backlash from her when she finds out he burned one of her books.

“We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to. But that does mean we’ll have to do all the research on our own…” Charlie looks off wistfully, and Harry smacks him playfully.

“You’re a professor, now. Aren’t you all built for research?”

“I think you know what I’m built for,” Charlie winks, and they dissolve into laughter. “Stay here tonight.” he sighs.

“But Ron--” Harry starts.

“He’ll be fine. I bet he’ll love it, actually. Especially if you stayed with me for all of break.”

“Aren’t you worried your parents will find out?” Harry tries again.

Charlie hums and kisses Harry. “I’ve been thinking,” another kiss. “We could transfigure my desk,” kiss, “into another bed.” A longer, deeper kiss. “You know, as a cover. Then you can be here, and Ron can have his room to do whatever it is he and Hermoine do.” he cringes at the thought.

Harry sighs. He supposes Charlie’s logic is sound. So long as they keep a silencing charm and a strong locking charm on the door when they’re...occupied, they would have nothing to worry about.

Hopefully.

“Fine,” he caves eventually, trying not to smile.

By the time he returns from his shower fifteen minutes later, the room has been rearranged to fit two people and Harry’s trunk is at the foot of “his” bed. Charlie, still shirtless, has changed into sweatpants and is dozing off waiting for Harry, who wastes no time in turning off the lights and snuggling up next to him, the bed beside them pristine.

When Harry jumps awake at five a.m. the next morning, Charlie already has coffee waiting for both of them and enough blankets to bury them from the world until Molly calls everyone for breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, on a serious note:
> 
> i've seen a few comments where people have felt uncomfortable with harry's dual relationships. i just want to be clear that this isn't something that i necessarily support, but it will be a major feature for the rest of the story. obviously it will change now that draco and charlie know about each other, but still. this isn't meant to be representative of a super healthy poly relationship. it's a fantasy from my weird and twisted thoughts that i couldn't stop thinking about until i began putting the story on the page. i appreciate the discourse--it allows me to see my story from outside my own bubble--but i wanted to make it clear i'm just trying to have fun out here. this is not canon, this is not perfect, and if this were happening in real life i would probably feel weird about it. if you're still reading despite feeling any of this, go you and i really appreciate your commitment!
> 
> p.s. because i would feel remiss to not mention it: black lives matter and y'all need to wear a fucking mask thanks :) stay safe out there!
> 
> p.p.s. jkr is a terf and i hope any and all trans readers know that you are so welcome here


	16. Chapter 16

On Christmas morning, Harry wakes up in complete darkness. Judging by the stiffness in his back, he guesses it to be around four in the morning, but when he turns away from the wall, he sees Charlie is already awake, arms folded across his chest as he stares at the ceiling.

Groggy with sleep and hoping to return to it soon, he moves over to Charlie and throws an arm around his waist. “Happy Christmas,” he says against Charlie’s cheek before kissing it.

“Yeah,” he replies gruffly. His voice is rough and tight like he’s come down with something.

Harry opens his eyes a little wider and props himself up on his forearm. “All right?”

Charlie clears his throat and rolls out of bed. “Yeah.” he repeats, going to his dresser. “I’m going to take a shower.” he says stiffly, gathering his clothes and a towel and leaving the room without another word.

When he returns nearly thirty minutes later, he smells like mint and his eyes are swollen and red. When Harry tries to ask him about it, he rubs it off. “Just got some shampoo in my eyes. Don’t worry.” he reassures.

Except there’s no way he can sound reassuring when his voice sounds so...dead. Like all of the light in his being seeped out overnight, leaving only a template behind.

Harry forces himself to smile as if nothing is wrong. “Right. Coffee?”

As if on cue, Charlie yawns, then nods. “‘Think I’ll need it if I want to be awake past noon.” He tries to move past Harry toward the door, but Harry doesn’t budge. He just looks at Charlie, eyebrow raised. “What?” he snaps. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Why not?” Harry prods.

Charlie huffs and his eyes flicker up to the ceiling. “Can we not talk about this right now?” he asks quietly before swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he blinks rapidly. This is a Charlie Harry’s never seen before, not at Hogwarts or Grimmauld or even Percy’s funeral, and for the first time, Harry worries about pressing him, worries that he might shatter if Harry says the wrong thing.

So, he grabs Charlie’s hand and squeezes it before stepping out of the way. “Okay.”

Charlie pulls Harry down the stairs until they reach the second floor and the bitter smell of fresh coffee wafts up to their noses. In the same second Harry recognizes the scent, Charlie jerks his hand out of Harry’s hold and steps down faster.

Bill is alone in the dining room with two mugs sitting in front of him. “You’re late, it’s nearly 5:30. Mum’ll be up soon.” He pushes one of the mugs across the table, the one with a big C painted on in wavering watercolors. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be joining, Harry, so you’ll have to get your own mug from the cabinet.”

“Joining what, exactly?” Harry asks at the same time Charlie says “We’re not doing this today,” glaring daggers.

“Harry, grab a cup and both of you can come sit,” Bill continues as if neither of them had spoken, levitating a kettle over from the stove.

“I already told Harry I don’t want to talk about it.” Charlie says through clenched teeth, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, maybe you should anyways.” Bill says, standing. He walks around the table to go to Charlie and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I knew today was going to be especially hard for you, and--”

“Stop talking. And don’t touch me,” Charlie knocks away his arm. Bill takes a step back. “I refuse to let this be ‘feel bad for Charlie’ day. It’s Christmas, for fuck’s sake! Talking about it isn’t going to make me feel any better and I wish everyone would stop trying to say otherwise!” his voice rises as he continues until he’s shouting by the end. Harry stays standing next to him, trying to piece the puzzle together himself since Charlie clearly isn’t going to help him.

Bill’s eyes narrow. “How would you know? It’s not like you’ve actually tried talking about it. You’d just bugger off to Harry’s whenever anyone tried to bring it up!” he seethes, subconsciously matching his brother’s volume.

“Oh, come off it!” Charlie shoots back. “Last time I checked, you weren’t exactly happy to ever talk about  _ your _ dead wife. Why is this any different?”

Harry watches the rage burn in Bill’s eyes the second Charlie mentioned Fleur. “Because I, unlike you, confide in people. I let people in, I try to process it; Merlin, I see a bloody mind healer!” He explodes, gesturing wildly. “Stop avoiding it, Char. You can say whatever you want, but you know you won’t feel better until you let it out.”

“ _ Boys! _ ” Mr. Weasley’s voice echoes louder than Charlie’s and Bill’s even from the doorway of his bedroom. Molly is right behind him, looking on worriedly. Maybe it’s just the light, but Harry swears she’s crying. “This is not how any of us wanted to start our Christmas.” Blush fills all three of the boys’ cheeks as they look upwards and realize the entire family is watching from the stairs, exhausted but wide-eyed, their wands at their sides. Even Hermoine looks nervous, whispering frantically to Ron. “If this is a conversation you two would like to continue, I suggest you do it in the privacy of your own rooms, perhaps at a more appropriate hour.” Arthur’s voice leaves no room for protest. “Now, since you two are looking so lively, you can help your mother start cooking. She was just getting up when you decided to wake the rest of us.”

“I can help,” Harry steps forward, revealing himself from behind Charlie and stepping between him and Bill.

“Oh, no, Harry,” it’s Molly who speaks up now, stepping past Arthur and towards the commotion. “You look like you could do with another hour of sleep before breakfast. Besides, it wasn’t your voice any of us were hearing, was it?” Slowly, Harry shakes his head. “As I thought. Go on then, back to bed!” She pats his shoulder and guides him to the stairs. 

“Right,” Harry whispers. He looks back at the scene, where Bill is still fuming, staring right into Charlie’s head. Charlie, on the other hand, is avoiding looking at anyone, his hair curtaining around his face as he tilts his head down.

“And the rest of you,” Molly calls to her children as Harry climbs the stairs. “I don’t want to see anyone for at least another hour. We should have breakfast on the table by then, and we’ll open presents after.”

No one protests.

When Harry reaches the third floor, Ron and Hermoine practically throw him into Ron’s room, Hermoine closing the door behind them. “Care to explain why we’re awake before six a.m.?” she asks as she turns the door’s lock into place.

“Um,” Harry starts, sitting on the edge of what’s supposed to be his bed. “I’m not really sure. Charlie wouldn’t say.”

Hermoine raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You couldn’t figure it out from the yelling that woke the whole house?”

Of course he’d figured out some of it, but the thought of speaking about it makes his stomach roll. “I think it’s about Percy, somehow.” he says to the ground.

Hermoine is quiet for a moment, pensive, likely trying to figure out the same thing Harry is. What is it about Christmas that seems to be such a trigger for Charlie? Other than the obvious emphasis on family, what is it that’s turned Charlie (and Bill, for that matter) into a ticking time bomb?

Ron is the one to break the silence, eventually. “I ‘spose that makes sense.” he says quietly, grabbing both of their attention. “The three of them--Bill, Charlie, and Percy--had some sort of Christmas morning tradition that they never let the rest of us get in on.” He sits down next to Harry and swallows. He looks uncomfortable, but continues nonetheless. “They were always so secretive about it--it was quite annoying, really. Then they’d spend the whole day whispering and giggling to each other like a group of first-years.”

“Not to mention Christmas was nearly the only time Charlie saw any of his family over the past few years,” Hermoine tries to rationalize, squeezing herself in the space between Harry and Ron. “It’s not surprising, per say, but…” her eyes flicker to the ground. “I don’t know him well, but I’ve never seen Charlie act like this.”

Ron nods along with her. “You and me both. Even when he fought with mum about moving to Romania, he never lost it like that.”

“Still, I should have expected it.” Harry says. “He’s been on edge lately, and I know he’s been ignoring it. I should have tried harder, made him talk about it, but I couldn’t. What if…” he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “What if he blames me? Even just a little?”

“He doesn’t!” Ron insists, leaning around Hermoine. “He blames Voldemort, the only reason you were involved in the first place.” Harry’s never heard Ron sound this intense, this insistent. “Same as the rest of us. Seriously, mate, the only people that blame you are yourself and the Death Eaters.”

Harry blushes when Hermoine nods in agreement. “Right, alright,” he mutters to himself. “Anyways, I want to get some more sleep before your mum calls us for breakfast.”

He stands to return to Charlie’s room, but Hermoine jumps up before he can reach the door. “No, you stay, Harry. I can’t see myself going back to sleep, so I’ll go and get ready.”

Harry nods, the pull of sleep already pushing him back down onto the bed. Ron goes to his own and Hermoine closes the door behind her, leaving the two of them to doze off as rays of sunlight begin to peek over the horizon.

Harry is already half asleep when Ron finds the courage to speak up again. “Harry?” his hesitant voice forces Harry back into full consciousness.

He yawns. “Yeah, Ron?”

There’s a tense pause; Harry can feel Ron trying to string the words together before he says them. It’s unusual. Ron never really thinks before he speaks--not in a bad way, but definitely a Gryffindor way. If anyone holds something back between them, it’s almost always Harry.

“Is there something going on with you and Charlie?”

Harry has never been so thankful that his best friend can’t see his face.

Harry forces himself not to shiver and plays it cool. “‘Something’? You mean a friendship?”

“I think you know I don’t mean a friendship.” He can practically hear Ron roll his eyes. He guesses he deserves that, though. He hated lying to Ron about Ginny, and he hates lying now, but if there’s one thing he never wants to discuss with Ron, it’s his sex life with Ron’s siblings.

When Harry doesn’t answer, Ron starts rambling. “You two just seemed really close. Closer than I’ve ever seen you with anyone except for ‘Moine and me. And you should see the way he looks at you sometimes. Even if you aren’t together, I’d bet 20 galleons that he wants to be.”

“Honestly, Ron, you know I’m shagging Malfoy.” Harry cuts him off in a way that he hopes ends the conversation. He doesn’t even get to feel good for the few seconds that Ron gags out “thanks for the reminder.” “Charlie and I...we just get each other. He forced himself in when I wouldn’t let anyone be around me, and after a while I stopped being angry with him and let him help me. I didn’t have the energy to keep fighting him when he woke me up every morning singing Romanian show tunes so offkey that I couldn’t help but laugh at him.” He rolls over so he’s facing the wall. “I probably wouldn’t have survived without him there.” he says softly.

Ron laughs, and Harry thanks his lucky starts that Ron didn’t hear the last part. “God, he’s a terrible singer.”

Harry laughs with him but says nothing, hoping that he’ll be able to get just a few more minutes of sleep before breakfast.

Again, just as Harry’s eyes drift shut: “Harry?” Ron whispers again, his tone apologetic.

“What, Ron?” Harry groans.

“Is...um...iscocoasomekindofcodeforyoutwo?”

“Is what?”

“Well, Hermoine thought that since you two talked about getting cocoa so much, it might have been some kind of...code.”

“Ron, what would we even need a code for?”

“That’s what I said when Hermoine brought it up! But, um, before we knew about you and Malfoy, she was kind of convinced you and Charlie were shagging. So, she thought it was some kind of...you know...a sex thing.” he says the last part under his breath, as if his mother will hear him two levels up and yell at her adult son for even considering sex.

Harry has to laugh again, because he’s sure if he doesn’t, he’ll expose himself. “No, it’s not a sex thing. Why didn’t she say anything to me?”

“Because you wouldn’t talk to us. She didn’t want to pry too hard and scare you away again.”

Merlin, Harry is never not going to feel like a shitty friend. There’s nothing he can ever do to make up for everything Ron and Hermoine have done for him, especially after he treated them this summer. “I’m sorry about that, you know. Ignoring you guys. It wasn’t fair. I just didn’t want to let you down.”

Harry can practically hear Ron rolling his eyes. “Mate, the only way you would let us down is if you went mental and became the next Dark Lord. Or something like that.”

Harry just hopes Ron remembers this conversation when he finds out about Harry and Charlie for real.

Christmas dinner is so awkward that Harry can barely look up from his plate. Sitting between Ron and Fred should never feel as formal as it does at this very moment, everyone scared to say anything that could set off another.

Well, mostly set off Charlie.

The entire day had been an exercise in navigating the minefield that is Charlie Weasley. He spent most of breakfast glowering at Bill and holding his fork so tightly that it bent beyond use. When everyone moved into the living room to open presents, he sat sulking on a chair in the corner of the room, snapping at anyone that tried to include him--Harry had tried to bring him presents three times before getting the memo. Then, he saw the sole present under the Christmas tree that had been placed for Percy, his mother’s way of making sure he’d be remembered, and his accidental magic set the tree on fire. Now, as they feast on their Christmas dinner, the family has collectively decided to ignore Charlie’s antics as he stabs his fork into every bite of food, the metal accessory scraping across a porcelain plate in a high-pitched shriek that Harry can’t understand how they can just ignore. It’s working on his last nerve.

It wasn’t like everyone else was fine, either. After all, they were all grieving for the missing voice in the room, a Christmas staple for the past twenty-odd years. As the day progresses, the tension in the house builds. Ginny, Molly, and Bill give Charlie increasingly annoyed looks until Harry is surprised they’ve been able to stay quiet for this long. Arthur and Ron exchange looks of worry every minute. Fred and George, of course, try to lighten the mood with their new Christmas-themed prank line for WWW, but naturally, the room exploding into a blizzard of red and green glitter only seems to make things worse.

As dinner dies down, Hermoine brings in a large cake, beaming with pride as she thanks Arthur and Molly for allowing her to stay for the holidays. “I made it myself last night after four absolute failures,” she laughs.

“How do you fail at making a cake?” Bill grins.

“By doing it the muggle way, apparently.” She launches into the story of her missteps and everyone is enthralled, smiles peaking on their faces for the first time all day.  _ Leave it to Hermoine to save the day, _ Harry rejoices.

Almost.

A slamming of silverware against wood makes nearly everyone jump. “I’m done,” Charlie’s chair scrapes against the floor and he stands, back straight. “I’m going to bed,” his voice leaves no room for argument; it demands they don’t question it. He walks out of the room with stiff, hurried steps before his boots stomp up the stairs and a door slams closed.

Molly stares at his empty chair for a moment before she stands, too. “Well, Hermoine, this looks absolutely fantastic,” she looks to the rest of her children, practically daring them to try something like that. “Arthur, Bill, help me get some plates for the cake. The rest of you can clear the dinner plates.”

Ron, Hermoine, and Ginny stand and begin gathering the dishes as Harry shovels his last few bites into his mouth. From his peripheral, Harry watches George pull out his wand and begin hovering plates over Ron and Hermoine’s heads with a wicked smirk. As Hermoine begins scolding him, a knee nudges his under the table.

Fred is the only other person still seated, and Harry has only seen him look so serious once before. “You should go check on Charlie,” he whispers knowingly.

Harry blushes and looks away. “And why would I do that?” he whispers in return.

Fred’s look deepens. “Come on, Harry. You and him were about two steps from shagging when you left the Burrow.” He leans in even closer. “And besides, I’ve never seen Charlie look at anyone like he looks at you. He’s a private lad; I reckon he won’t talk to anyone if he won’t talk to you.”

Harry bites his lip. “Not even his brothers?” He can’t help but feel that out of all the people here, he’s the least qualified person to go to Charlie, except maybe Hermoine. But even Hermoine would probably have some sage (if vague) advice or at least a list of coping techniques for people grieving. All he’s got is a warm body and open arms and maybe a few words of wisdom, if he can think through the fog that’s been following him ever since Draco found out.

Fred shrugs. “The only ones he’s ever talked to about anything serious are Bill and Percy. Rest of us were too young before he moved away.” If that’s true, Fred’s right. Charlie won’t want to bother Bill, not after their fight. Actually, Charlie won’t want to bother anyone, even if he needs to. And one thing he’s willing to agree on with Fred on is that Charlie probably shouldn’t be alone right now.

Harry nods once. “Fine, cover for me. And we’ll talk later;” he nudges Fred’s shoulder. “I want to know more about this ‘look’ Charlie gives me.”

Fred leers and they stand at the same time. He gathers the dishes in front of them at the same time he starts singing Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love at full volume, garnering all the attention as Harry slips away.

Just before he slides around the corner to the stairs, his eyes catch Ginny’s. She’s got that same knowing in her eyes as Fred, and the blood drains from Harry’s face. She doesn’t look very happy, and a little piece of his heart breaks. As much as he’s over her, Ginny is still family, and Harry can’t stand losing another part of his family. She nods to the stairs and Harry takes the out without a glance back, pushing his panic out of mind. Ginny will have to wait.

While climbing the stairs to Charlie’s room, he passes the bathroom. The door is closed and light peeks out from the crack on the floor. Softly, Harry knocks twice. “Charlie? It’s Harry,” he says. He’s not entirely sure what his plan is when he gets past the door, so, like he does with all the major points of his life, he improvises. His intuition has never failed him before--he’s still alive, isn’t he?

“What?” A strangled, dejected voice calls out after a minute.

“Can...Can I come in?”

Harry waits for the explosion on the other side of the door, for the yelling to start and insults to fly the way they always did on Privet Drive, but it never comes. He barely even hears the broken “yes” Charlie gives him, but when he recognizes it, he braces himself and turns the knob.

Harry’s seen Charlie tear up before, but nothing can prepare him for the sight of Charlie full-on sobbing, clenching the sink like it’s the only thing holding him up. He looks at Harry in the mirror. “Do you need something?” Charlie asks, sniffling. His voice is deep and rough.

The thing is, Harry kind of wants to be mad at Charlie. Lashing out at Harry? Fine. It’s not like he didn’t do the same thing six months ago. But everyone else doesn’t deserve that. That’s why Harry isolated himself after the war. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist chewing out anyone who so much as glanced at him the wrong way.

Now, seeing him like this, the rest of Harry’s heart crumbles. This pain, he knows intimately, and he can’t even pretend to be mad about it. He’s positive that whatever he could say is ten times better than what Charlie’s putting himself through now. He turns and locks the door before going to Charlie. “No, I’m here for you this time,” he replies, putting a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “We all are, even if no one says it.”

Charlie’s lip quivers. “I’ll be fine,” he uses the sleeves of his sweater to wipe his face free of tears. It’s still red and puffy, and his glassy eyes threaten another round of crying.

“I know,” Harry nods. “And I’ll be here until you are.”

He locks eyes with the man, watching the fight in his eyes. Charlie has spent the past seven months building a dam, driving a wedge between his thoughts and feelings. And now it’s here: that terrifying, torrential tsunami crashing into him, where he finds out that all of his preparation is useless. And then it’s Harry that Charlie is clinging to, fresh tears falling against his neck and seeping into his shirt. “It hurts, Harry. It hurts so fucking bad that I feel like I can’t breathe. And everyone is trying to pretend like it’s fine that he’s not here, but it’s not. It’s so fucking not.” He gasps, his crushing grip pushing the air out of Harry’s lungs.

Harry rubs his back, strong and assuring. “I know, Charlie. I know.”

He manages to coax Charlie the rest of the way up to his room, immediately shielding them with a silencing charm. When he turns back to the room, Charlie is facedown on his mattress, hugging his pillow against his face as he sobs into it. Harry sits next to him gently and resumes his back rubbing. He’s not sure what else to do, but the longer he does it, the less sounds Charlie makes, which he’s going to count as a win. 

When his only noises are shuddering breaths, Harry lies down beside him and pulls Charlie into his arms. The man clings to him, burying his face in Harry’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he gasps into Harry’s shirt.

“Why?” Harry kisses his forehead. “I’m just returning the favor.”

“No, for today. All of it. I didn’t mean to go off on Bill, or snap at you, or anything else that I did. I knew that if I didn’t stay angry, I’d get sad,” Harry feels new tears leak into his shirt. “I’d have been like this all day.”

“Okay, I know, I know,” Harry continues to soothe, whispering that he's here, that he’s not leaving, that it’s not Charlie’s fault...everything that he’d wanted to hear after every funeral he’d attended. Secretly, Harry’s dying to bring up this morning, make Charlie talk to him just as he’s always done with Harry. However, it seems that Charlie falls asleep as soon as his breathing returns to anything resembling normal.  _ He did say he was exhausted _ , Harry thinks as he lays Charlie back onto his pillow. He doesn’t wake up as Harry pulls their blankets over him and he doesn’t wake up as Harry extricates himself from the bed and creeps to the door, shutting it softly behind him.

When Harry goes back downstairs, he finds the rest of the Weasleys in the sitting room. Some evening talk show warbles from the wireless on top of the fireplace, but no one is really listening. The twins are huddled over a notebook on the sofa, George scribbling away their ideas, and Ron and Ginny are playing chess on the coffee table. Ron looks smug, and Ginny looks defeated. Away from them, Molly, Arthur, and Bill sit in a semicircle whispering to each other.

“They’re quite worried, I think,” Hermoine’s voice behind him makes Harry jump.

She holds out a plate of biscuits, and Harry declines, scratching the back of his head. “Me too,” he says.

As if his voice was what they’d been waiting for, the group of adults look up and wave Harry over to them. “Oh, how is he?” Molly frets. “I put a heating charm over the rest of his dinner if he wants it. Do I need to go check on him?”

“He’s asleep right now.” Harry says.

“Mum, I’m sure he just needs his space,” Bill says softly. “I probably pushed him too far this morning.”

Instantly, Molly’s focus shifts from one son to another. “Don’t you start blaming yourself for this.”

“I should have known today would be difficult for him, and I just made it worse.” Bill continues, running a hand through his hair.

Arthur puts a hand on Bill’s shoulder, and Bill tenses. “You only did what you thought would be best, I’m sure.”

Harry sees it in Bill’s eyes, the snap of his sanity, a split second before Bill throws Arthur’s hand off of him. “No, I did what was selfish. Selfish and stupid and impulsive. I should have known better by now.” Suddenly, he summons his coat and pushes his way out of the huddle, drawing everyone’s attention as he storms out the front door.

Molly takes a step to follow him, but Arthur stops her in her tracks. “Give him some time, love. You know how they are.” He presses a soft kiss on her cheek. Over her head, he eyes the door hesitantly. “Why don’t you sit and have a biscuit? I’ll put a kettle on for some chamomile.”

When Harry turns away, Ron is at his side. “Let’s go, while Mum and Dad are distracted,” he tugs Harry’s sleeve toward the door. Hermoine has pulled everyone else into a game of Exploding Snap as they snack on the biscuits, and they slip out unnoticed.

Bill is pacing the length of the yard, running a hand through his hair every few seconds. When he sees the boys approaching, he goes still and straight, tearing his eyes away from the ground in front of him. “What, Ron?” he huffs.

“Just checking in,” he says steadily. “Dad’s right, it’s not your fault.”

Bill scoffs. “I know it’s not my fault, in theory. Doesn’t make me feel any better about pulling some stupid stunt.”

“What stunt?” Harry pries.

Bill sighs, looking up to the upper levels of the house. His eyes are shiny in the moonlight. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone about it. Not even Hermoine, and especially not Charlie. We made a pact to never talk about it with anyone outside of us and Percy.”

Harry and Ron nod, but Bill continues to look at them hesitantly. “What, do you want us to make an unbreakable vow?” Ron snips, holding out his hand.

“No, of course not.” Bill slaps his hand away. “Don’t be a git.”

“So tell us,” Harry steps between them, looking to Bill for answers.

Bill nods. “Percy started it when he was three or four. His accidental magic unwrapped all the presents when he went to get a glass of water Christmas morning. He was terrified of Mum and Dad finding out, so he came to us--this was back when Charlie and I shared a room. We helped him re-wrap all the gifts, but not before checking out everything we’d gotten.” Bill smiles at the memory and rubs his eyes. “The next year, Charlie was convinced he did it on purpose. We never found out for sure, but we still helped him re-wrap them again. We spent the whole time bickering about who got the best gift--it was always Perc, but we couldn’t tell him that.” He pulls his jacket around him tighter, holding it closed at the front as he shivers. “We could never keep a straight face when everyone opened their own gifts later. I don’t know why it was so funny to us, but we started doing it every year.”

Bill sighs. They can see the puff of warm air form a cloud between the three of them. “Once I moved to Egypt and Charlie went to Romania, it was really the only time the three of us had together. I reckon last Christmas was the last time Charlie saw Perc alive.” He swallows thickly. “It’s so stupid, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of my brothers.”

With his jacket sleeve, Bill wipes his face. Harry glances back at Ron, who’s already moving past him to stand next to Bill, pulling some kind of cloth out of his pocket and handing it over. Ron gives Harry a look as Bill sniffles, and Harry makes up an excuse to go inside. As he reaches the front door, he looks back just in time to see Ron pull Bill into a hug.

For the first time, the thought occurs to Harry that maybe it’s Ron that’s keeping the family sane. He’s the one that kept Harry and Hermoine from falling down rabbit holes most of the time, after all. Between their grief and the never-ending list of house repairs, Molly and Arthur are exhausted; it’s obvious in their eyes. Bill hardly manages himself and his classes. Fred and George have buried themselves in prank ideas, even more so than usual. Maybe at one point, it was Charlie in that role, but Harry pushes that thought out of mind. No need for more of his own guilt for enabling Charlie to abandon his family. And Ginny’s coping mechanisms seem to mostly involve her own friends, her found family.

Leaving Ron. Act first, think later, chess genius, unfazed fighter, self-sacrificing, King Keeper Ron. Putting his family back piece by piece, taping it together just like he’d done with his wand second year.

This time, the tape seems to be working much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...it's been a while.
> 
> i'm SO sorry for leaving you all like that. i'm currently in my senior year of college and it's slowly killing me and i have absolutely no time in the semester for anything extra. BUT i just submitted my last final (like literally an hour ago) and i've been dying to get back into this for weeks! thankfully this is the start of a two month break for me, and i'll do my best to finish this before i go back to school. i have plans for the rest of the chapters and i've missed my boys.
> 
> also, fun fact: today is the one-year anniversary of me starting this fic! super excited to be back :)


	17. Chapter 17

“I can’t stay here anymore,” Charlie tells Harry two days after Christmas, rubbing the palms of his hands over his knees as they sit together on Charlie’s bed. “It’s too much. I’m going back to Hogwarts tonight.”

“Alone?” Harry panics. This is the first time Charlie has initiated a conversation with anyone in days, and Harry refuses to let it be the last. 

For the first time since before Christmas, Charlie’s lips turn up in a hint of a smile as he sees the look in Harry’s eyes. “Well, I was hoping you’d want to come back with me, see. Somehow, there’s not a single Gryffindor staying there over the holidays, so I thought we could sneak in and camp out in the common room.” Harry’s not really surprised that Gryffindor is empty. After everything the wizarding world had gone through in the war, no one wanted to be alone on the holidays. Those who still had family flocked to them, taking those without along for the ride. It’s nice, Harry thinks. He doesn’t know what he would have done if the Weasleys hadn’t all but adopted him. And now his peers had universally decided that no student need go through their Hogwarts years alone, without a family.

Harry grabs one of Charlie’s clammy hands and pulls it into his lap. He feels a tightness in his chest relaxing that he hadn’t realized was tensed; all Charlie has wanted for the past two days is space and silence. Harry still sleeps here, but he “sleeps” in the spare bed, eyes flinching open every time Charlie tosses or moans in his sleep. During the day, he’s stayed downstairs, doing whatever Hermoine or Ron or Ginny suggests they do in a vain attempt to take his mind off of the pain Charlie won’t let him even attempt to help soothe. “I feel like it’s been ages since I’ve seen the common room.”

“Well, I can assure you that practically nothing has changed. Hasn’t since I lived there.” Charlie claims.

“I always forget you were in Gryffindor.” Harry muses. “Do you think we ever slept in the same bed?”

Charlie gasps, affronted. “How could you forget I was in Gryffindor? I’m their Head of House! Also, have you met my family?”

Harry can’t help but laugh. “Well, you were never  _ my _ Head of House. And yes, your family is the most pro-Gryffindor house family I’ve ever met. Still...”

Charlie gives him a withering look. “I worked with  _ dragons _ , Harry. For many years.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry smirks, releasing Charlie’s hand to run his fingers along the side of Charlie’s neck, where a particularly sensitive burn scar hides under his hair.

Charlie shivers and closes his eyes. “Well, where would I be, then, if not in Gryffindor?”

“Slytherin, obviously.” Harry doesn’t even think about it.

The look of horror on Charlie’s face as his eyes bulge open is priceless. “What?” he shouts.

Harry shrugs, giggling. “You’re a little devious, you always have a plan...you’re too calculated to be in Gryffindor. In my opinion.”

Charlie’s jaw drops and he lunges for Harry. “How dare you!” he cries, his fingers dancing along Harry’s sides, tickling him.

“In my defense, I thought the same thing about Fred and George!” Harry tries in between laughing and trying to catch his breath. “Uncle! Uncle!” he begs when he can no longer breathe.

“I bet they’d love to hear about your theory, too.” Charlie says, nipping at Harry’s collarbone.

“Don’t you dare,” Harry says, blush warming his cheeks as he holds Charlie’s body firmly against his own. He can only imagine the kind of pranks they would pull on him if Charlie told them. He doesn’t think even being their top investor would stop their revenge. “If it makes you feel any better, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, so it’s not an insult.”

This time, Charlie’s eyebrows peak with interest. “And you fought it?”

Harry grimaces. “Well, I’d just met Malfoy and Ron, both talking up their own houses, but I liked Ron a lot more than I liked Malfoy, so that made my decision for me.”

Charlie scoffs. “I bet you can’t say that anymore.”

Harry slaps his chest. “Don’t say that. Ron’s my best friend. My best friend who will definitely think it’s weird if just the two of us go back to Hogwarts.”

Charlie bites his lip, and Harry realizes he already has planned it out. Typical. “Bill’s coming too, and I reckon I can get Hermoine on our side if I give her my key to the restricted section in the library.”

“She might be more mad that you haven’t given it to her already.”

And she is.

“You’re telling me that both of you have had keys this whole time and never thought to tell me?” she shouts when Bill, Charlie, and Harry corner her, Ron, and Ginny that afternoon.

“We’re...telling you now?” Charlie tries, retrieving the key from his pocket and holding it out to her.

She swipes it out of his hands with a glare. “I hope you know you’re not getting this back until the end of the year.”

“Fair enough. I don’t really use it, anyway.” Charlie brushes her off, and she cringes as if the answer physically hurts her.

“Does that mean you’re coming? Madame Pince is visiting her mother in France, won’t be back until the day before lessons start.” Bill asks. Everyone looks at him as if he’s grown another head. “What? She’s actually rather nice to professors, and I had to make some friends, now didn’t I?”

Hermoine rolls her eyes, but nods eagerly. “Ron and I will go pack now!”

“Oi, I don’t even get a say?” Ron cuts in from his seat on the couch, disgruntled.

Hermoine looks back at him, already on the first stair. “Harry and I are going, Fred and George had to return to work, and Ginny…”

“Is visiting Luna and Neville for New Years.” Ginny finishes from beside Ron. “Neville knows of some lovely party in central London.”

“So if you’d like to stay here with your parents, Ronald, be my guest.” Hermoine continues. “I just thought you’d--”

“Okay! Okay.” Ron says, standing. “I’m coming,” he grumbles. The rest of the group tries to hold back their laughter as Ron and Hermoine climb the stairs, Hermoine talking a mile a minute about all of the books she hopes to find in the shelves she’s only barely browsed before.

“Charlie and I will make supper,” Bill claims as soon as the group makes it through his office’s Floo. “If you want to come back here in a few hours.”

“Excuse me?” Charlie raises an eyebrow, his jaw tense. From just next to him, Harry sees his whole body stiffen, his spine straighten. Instantly, Charlie’s good mood has vanished, and Harry’s stomach sinks.

“You’re excused,” Bill dismisses with a smile. “How does 6 sound?”

Ron and Hermoine agree readily, and Harry nods along with them, avoiding Charlie’s gaze.

“I’m going to see if the house elves are making anything good in the kitchens.” Ron says as soon as the trio is out of earshot of Bill’s office.

“Honestly, Ronald, it’s already three. Don’t you think we should wait until supper?” Hermoine tries to guide him and Harry towards the dorms.

“Absolutely not,” Ron laughs, continuing towards the basement. “They’re rubbish cooks.”

“Then why did you agree to let them cook in the first place?”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Because they need to make up.”

“Ron’s right,” Harry cuts in. Charlie’s been moping and avoiding Bill since Christmas and refuses to hear a word about him. They ignore one another at meals--the only time Charlie left his room--even though the tension between them disturbed the whole family. Harry knew it was killing Molly, watching her sons fight like that, but every time she made a move to speak up, Arthur would give her one of those secret looks, placating her. 

Although to be fair, Charlie’s avoiding most everyone these days. Molly has only barely been able to coax him out of his room for meals; any more than that, and it’s liable to end in shouting and tears. Harry’s not sure how Charlie managed to get out of the Burrow’s Boxing Day festivities, but he imagines it involved a lot of crying with his parents and possibly begging, with Charlie literally on his knees. If he had to bet, Harry thinks Charlie has spent more of the past two days asleep than awake--at least, he’d been asleep or almost asleep every time Harry came into their room.

“Harry?” Hermoine’s hand waves in front of his face, and suddenly they’re in front of the kitchens, Ron and Hermoine staring back at him expectantly. “I asked you a question.” She looks at him with concern. Harry is surprised she doesn’t look more annoyed; he can hardly pay attention to anything anymore. He finds it difficult to think through the fog of worry that’s been looming over him since Christmas morning.

“Sorry, Hermione. Come again?”

She gives him a pitying half-smile before repeating herself. “I wanted to know if Charlie was upset about something other than whatever happened between Bill and him. Maybe it’s just a feeling, but it seems bigger than that.”

As always, Hermoine is spot on, but a twisting in Harry’s stomach keeps him from admitting it. It doesn’t feel right to tell her, or anyone. When the roles were reversed, Charlie never told anyone about Harry’s pain. He just took it over his own shoulders, dealt with it himself. Surely Harry should do the same for him?

Harry can’t help but think that Charlie is loads stronger than he can ever hope to be.

To Hermoine, he shrugs. “We haven’t really spoken the past few days.” Any other answer would either be a lie or a betrayal.

Hermoine frowns, giving Harry a penetrating look that makes him feel naked. “Really?”

“Really. He asked for space, so I’m giving him space.” Harry has to try hard to keep the stress from his voice, but can’t stop a sigh.

“Yeah, Hermoine, give the man some space,” Ron says lightly as the passage into the kitchen swings open behind him. His eyes connect with Harry’s just long enough for Harry to realize Ron is even less convinced than Hermoine. “Let’s just eat some sandwiches and forget about them.” he rolls his eyes for good measure before grabbing Hermoine’s hand and dragging her in with him. Harry thanks Merlin for his friends and follows their laughter.

The trio stands in front of their dormitory for nearly ten minutes before Dumbledore returns to his portrait. “Ms. Granger! Mr. Weasley! Mr. Potter! I didn’t expect to see you for another week.” He greets them jovially, eyes just as bright as they’d been when he was alive. Harry wonders if he misses them, their trio of trouble, more loyal to him than most members of the Order.

“We thought it might be fun to have the castle to ourselves for a while.” Hermoine grins.

“And by ‘the castle,’ she means the library,” Ron groans.

“Right now, though, we’d just like to get to our rooms.” Harry says, staring at his shoes.

There’s a beat of silence and Harry is too scared to look up and see their reactions. “Of course, my apologies. The password hasn’t changed since the start of the break.”

“Mistletoe,” Harry says immediately, and the door opens, hiding Dumbledore against the wall.

“I thought you made up with Dumbledore, mate.” Ron says as they split from Hermoine to go to their dorms.

Harry shrugs, focused on the floor in front of him. “We’re fine.”

“Doesn’t look it, but if that’s what you want…” Ron pushes in their dorm door and doesn’t say another word until they’ve thrown all their things haphazardly in their places. “Malfoy’ll kill us if we leave the room like this,” Ron laughs at the thought, and Harry smiles. Draco was a bit of a neat freak. He usually didn’t mind much as long as they kept their things on their side of the room, but looking around the room, Harry knows Ron’s right: they’ll have to clean eventually if they don’t want to be slaughtered in their sleep.

“That’s a problem for the new year,” Harry sighs, laying in his bed, the only clean surface left in the room. Even Ron’s bed is covered in half-written parchment and faded textbooks, so Harry folds up his legs so that Ron can collapse across the bottom of his mattress.

“Good plan.”

Bill’s quarters are quite similar to Charlie’s: same fireplace and couch combo, same dining room table, same kitchen appliances and same hallway that Harry would bet leads to an identical bedroom and bathroom. However, it’s clear Bill tried much harder to make the place feel like home. Hanging over the couch is a quilted blanket that could only be the handiwork of his mother. On his walls, he has portraits from every place he’s lived, imaginary wind blowing through Ottery St. Catchpole and stirring the sand on Shell Cottage’s beach. Harry doesn’t recognize the other places, but he takes note of the pyramids on the horizon of a portrait of a town full of goblins and street signs written in French on another.

Dinner is only slightly burnt, to Ron’s surprise. It tastes like an average shepherd's pie, which is more than anyone hoped for it. Harry thanks his earlier self for only eating half a sandwich so that he can still clear his plate, a compliment to the chefs.

Well, mostly to Charlie. Charlie, who doesn’t seem to notice anything beyond his own dinner plate.

At least the meal is less tense than the ones they’ve shared recently. The tension between Bill and Charlie seems to have all but evaporated as conversation flows freely around the table. Still, though, Charlie stays silent. Sitting next to him, Harry nudges him with his foot a few times but receives no reaction. If not for the robotic movements of his fork scraping across his plate, one might even forget he was at the table at all.

After the plates are cleared, Hermoine excuses herself and Ron for an “evening walk,” but judging by Ron’s face, Harry assumes that to mean they’re going to find somewhere to make out in the near-empty castle. “Do you want any help cleaning up?” Harry asks Bill as the couple leaves.

Bill chuckles and flops down on his couch. With a flick of his wand, the dishes begin cleaning and placing themselves back in the shelves they came from. “I think I can handle it.” 

“Then I’ll be off,” Charlie grunts, still seated at the dining table. His chair scrapes across the floor with a squeal, and without another word (or look, for that matter) he stands and walks out of Bill’s quarters.

Harry watches Charlie until he disappears from Bill’s office, unsure of what to do next. When he turns back, Bill’s hand is already poised to shoo him away. “Go with him!” Bill encourages in a whisper. “I don’t think he wants to be alone as much as he says he does.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice to run after him.

“Charlie!” Harry catches up to him at the end of the corridor and grabs a hand in his. “I believe I was promised a trip to Gryffindor tower.”

Charlie bites his lip. “Um…” he sniffs and looks up to the ceiling. “Can you take a rain check?”

Now Harry understands why Charlie didn’t say anything during dinner: his voice is hoarse, cracking over every other word. And now that he isn’t so adamantly staring at his dinner, Harry can really see Charlie’s face for the first time since this morning. Even in the candle light of the hall, Harry can tell the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced and his eyes are red and glassy.

Slowly, Harry reaches his free hand up to Charlie’s face and rests it on his cheek. Harry strokes his thumb across Charlie’s cheek, and the indent against Charlie’s skin allows for a tear to escape. “I don’t want you to be alone,” Harry murmurs.

Charlie leans into Harry’s hand, and his chin wobbles. “I’m just going to sleep.”

Harry can feel his heart cracking as Charlie trembles in his hands. “Okay. You know where to find me, if you change your mind.”

Harry moves to pull away, and Charlie’s hand flies up to his cheek to hold Harry in place. “I do,” he tries, sliding his fingers over Harry’s.

They stand there for some time like that, watching each other, Harry holding Charlie upright. All Harry knows is that he will not be the first to turn away, and the longer they stand there, the more Harry wonders if they’ll stand here all night, staring at each other as Charlie tries not to cry.

“Do you want me to go?” Harry asks quietly, the words barely moving his mouth.

“You should go,” Charlie nods, triggering a sobbing breath to escape.

“Do you  _ want _ me to go?” Harry repeats.

Charlie shakes his head and leans forward, falling into Harry’s arms.

“No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is a filler chapter. i promise more interesting things happen next time. ;)
> 
> also, a fun fact: apparently charlie's birthday is december 13th??? at least according to the new harry potter app i've been obsessing over. wish i'd known that a couple of months ago...


End file.
